


Small Is the Gate and Narrow the Road

by rubrikate



Series: Temporis [3]
Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: F/M, Lore - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:15:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 59,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22142404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubrikate/pseuds/rubrikate
Summary: This is the third installment in the 'Temporis' series. This is how I personally pictured Cardinal Copia and his rise to power and what shaped him into what we see today.
Relationships: Cardinal Copia/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Temporis [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1254236
Comments: 149
Kudos: 131





	1. Strange Gifts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MmeSatan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MmeSatan/gifts).



> ABSOLUTELY HUGE THANK YOU TO AO3 USER nosferatu_insideofyou FOR EDITING THIS BAD BOY FOR ME. YOU ARE THE MVP.

_Sweden_

_October 3rd, 1991_

_5:10 PM_

He’d been hiding in the hedge maze for some time, waiting for his tormentors to give up and leave. He could still see Peter and Asa’s faces in his mind. He pulled his knees to his chest, burying his face against them, his arms wrapped around his legs. A piece of him said this was how it would always be, but there was a louder second voice saying the first one was wrong; his mind warred with his heart endlessly. He listened for the sounds of speech or laughter, but none came, and he began to wipe his eyes with his sleeves. Standing up, he strained to hear the sounds of anyone nearby. But again, there was nothing. He sighed, wiping his eyes one more time on his sleeve as he felt the hot flow of tears coming to a halt. His face felt puffy. He hated the way this repeated itself day in and day out. 

It was getting cold. He could feel the air on his tear-stained cheeks. Thankfully, his tormentors gave up; they always did eventually, and he was free to go and live another day. With his hands pushed into his pockets, he shivered as he walked back up to the main area of the church. He dragged his feet, his hands pushed down into his white Uninitiated robes; balled into fists. His vision cast down to the ground. He was alone, as usual, and he found himself walking to the library. He loved to disappear in the tall shelves and around all the tight corners, finding all the bizarre texts he could find and reading them with voracity. It’s not that he enjoyed the solitude. But alone he was, and that was simply the way things were. It didn’t take him long to sneak his way back into the building and into the library, but he was confronted with an uncomfortable sight: the tormentors he believed he’d eluded clumped together by the fireplace at the end of the main hall. They were talking and laughing, laying on the floor and not doing any of the reading they were supposed to be doing. He glared at them, his blood turning icy cold. He didn’t want to do this again. Not today. 

But he was nothing if not clever, and it certainly didn’t take him long to find an escape route. He sneaked quietly around the edges of the library, beneath the large stained-glass windows that cascaded from floor to ceiling. In the fading sunlight, the group did not see him so far back against the wall; he was nothing more than an odd shadow. He came across the old, crooked door that was pushed between two tight bookshelves. It had always seemed to him a bit out of place. He slowly pulled the door handle, and the door opened with a gentle creak. But still, no one noticed him as he slipped inside. 

The room was dark and deathly quiet. The name on the dusty placard read "Signe Rask," though the room had been vacant for many years. It was still packed full of boxes from the former occupant, and papers were piled up everywhere. But he knew something else from his years of running and hiding: there was a tunnel. It was hidden carefully behind an old, short, poorly-constructed bookshelf with little on it. He’d found it only a year prior, but he liked what it hid behind its shoddy exterior—and he liked knowing something the others did not know. He didn’t even think the Overseer of the Archive knew it was there, and that very idea made him gleeful. He pulled the bookcase away from the stone wall, revealing a tunnel that led into a larger, darkened room. The shelves were covered in books that he knew deep down in his gut he had no business even being in the same room with. 

As he passed shelf after shelf, he could hear the distinct fuzzy sounds of whispering. This was something that had happened many times, and although the first time he heard it, he panicked and hid, the second and third time he found it oddly relaxing. It wasn’t the same malicious whispering he was used to every day it was somehow beyond him and above him and had nothing to do with him. Though, he was unsure where it was coming from; the who or what was lost on him. He walked carefully between darkened rows, looking up and down the shelves at books with black spines and gold writing on them. Some of them were wrapped in old and strange leathers with no writing on them at all, and still more were simply papers bound together by nothing more than string. He walked out into the center hall between all the shelves and stood there for a moment before turning his attention to the shelves that lined the far wall. There was no light source in this room, and so he fumbled in the darkness, but he eventually reached the shelves. Opening one or two, he saw they contained only paperwork, and all the words were written in some incomprehensible scrawl he’d never seen before. Frustrated and bored, he put the paperwork back, shutting the drawer with a loud _clang_. 

He sat down on the two steps that led up from the main floor to the wall lined with shelves and drawers, and he buried his face in his folded arms as he leaned on his knees. He drew his arms in closer, pulling his knees in more as hot tears slid down his face without permission and stained the sleeves of his robes. He hated hiding. He hated being alone. He hated never feeling safe. He could feel his face becoming hot, and he came up to breathe for a moment, his eyes still brimming over with tears.

And that was when he heard it: a distinct squeaking noise. He looked up, sniffling as he did so. He rubbed at his nose with his sleeve as he questioned his own eyes. There, on the floor in front of him, was a rat. It was as white as snow and just as friendly, coming up to him almost immediately without prompting or question. He noticed that the rats eyes were blue. 

“Are you someone's pet?” he whispered quietly, his voice small. He held his hand down flat on the floor. The rat very gladly accepted and walked right up. The boy lifted the rodent up to his face, and they both simply stared at one another. The boy sitting on the steps of a room he had no right being in with his eyes full of tears and a white rat who had climbed into the palm of his hand: surely, they must have struck an odd duo. He looked at the animal in front of him and watched as it settled on his hand, curling up. He cradled it close to him but was unsure what to do with it. “Don’t you have a home? I don’t have anywhere to keep you in mine.” He went to put the rat down, but the rodent was hearing none of that and instead pushed itself closer to the boy’s chest, clinging to his robes with its small paws. 

“Alright, alright, I, uh...I guess you can stay with me. Maybe I can find a shoe box?” he said quietly to himself, the tears on his face now dried up and gone. He watched as the rat squeaked and squealed quietly—as though it found this arrangement agreeable. “I guess you don’t have a name,” the boy said quietly, softly running an index finger down the fur on the rat’s back. He stood up, holding the rat in both hands as he walked to the tunnel back into the old archival office. His steps felt somehow lighter now, and he liked the idea of caring for something besides himself. But more than that, he loved the idea of having his own secret—and this was the perfect kind. 

“My name’s Carmine, by the way,” the boy said gently to the rat as he walked out of the darkened room and began to push the bookshelf behind him closed. His shoes skidded lightly on the stone floors, but he managed. The wood scraping on the old stone floor as he pushed the shelf back across the hidden entrance. “Carmine Copia,” he whispered. The rat simply squeaked. 


	2. Full Circle

_Sweden_

_January 5th, 2004_

_3:55 PM_

He stared ahead of himself in silence, his eyes fixed on the paperwork in front of him. He could feel every fiber of his being tightening up like a coil. On his desk, piled in a neat little stack, was a request. It was a simple enough request: a higher clergy member was asking that the church pay for more renovations to his quarters. The clergy member had filled several written pages explaining how the original work wasn’t done to his specifications, wants, and needs; that it didn’t have enough of _this_ or _that_ or perhaps the wood floors weren’t a certain (albeit, more expensive) type of wood. Copia stared at the request as though he could somehow burn holes through it with his vision alone. He’d read through the whole thing: it was rife with obvious financial theft from the church and had all the hallmarks of someone asking for far, far too much. The fireplace crackled quietly behind him. Copia sat back in his chair and steepled his pale fingers together, his gaze focusing on the empty chair in front of him. His mouth was a perfect straight line made of complete, white-hot rage. He sighed and pushed his chair back, the wooden legs squealing on the stone floor. He went to the door of his office and pulled it open. 

The hallway outside was quiet and only populated by one man who paced back and forth languidly along the hallway. He moved slowly, walking up and down the hall as though he had not a care in the world. His eyes were scanning the paintings and portraits along the hall. He was dressed in a plain, straight-pressed, black cassock with no adornments—save for the two plain, silver grucifixes pinned to his collar. Everything about him was plain: his shoes, his socks, his hair. There was nothing that stood out. He walked to the last portrait hung up in the hall, turned to look at it head on, and let a soft smile paint his features. He looked to his left, his eyes falling on Copia, and that same easy, friendly smile remained. He turned around and began to walk back. 

“Sorry, Copia. I got distracted with all the portraits up here. I forgot how many there were in this hall.” He gestured with his right hand down the corridor, the walls lined with the portraits of long gone cardinals. Copia said nothing and simply gave a tight nod as he turned on his heel and walked into his office, his guest closing the door behind him. Copia walked to his chair and sat down as his guest sat across from him. The man turned around and let out a dry chuckle.

“I have to say, I thought being a cardinal would give you a better office.” The man smirked, a cruel, satisfied shine in his eye as he adjusted to lean comfortably in his seat—though any attempt at comfort was in vain. That particular chair was about as comfortable as a medieval torture device; Copia had seen to that. He watched the man across from him and, without breaking eye contact, reached down to the paperwork on his desk. He held it up, shaking it slightly as he chose his next words. 

“I have reviewed your request, frater.” Copia’s voice was low as he spoke. “I am disturbed by the amount of...excess...spending I am seeing on the record here.” He laid his hand palm down on a stack of bills and receipts that he had printed. The man in front of him shrugged, looking down at his cassock; idly, he picked at a stray piece of lint from his garment. 

“I don’t see how it’s in excess. The workers and the architect simply didn’t do it right. That’s all.” He gave that same false smile as he looked up, making eye contact with Copia once more. Copia nodded silently, his fingers tightening their grip on the pile of bills and invoices. 

“So, they didn’t lay the stone floor right the first time, and that’s why you had them remove it and upgrade to a higher costing stone? Was it not laid correctly? Or was it that the original choice you made was not...satisfactory? If it wasn’t laid correctly, please show me where the architect told you that. In writing.” Copia’s words were low and heated; his mouth was a thin straight line, and his eyes seemed to bore holes in the man in front of him. He squirmed slightly under Copias gaze. 

“I don’t...have anything in writing from the architect.” His voice was softer than it had been before. Copia tilted his head slightly, his mouth falling open as he blinked several times. 

“So, you’re telling me that you had them rip up this perfectly good stone—stone that the church paid for, mind you—and put down a type of stone not approved by the budget the church set for you?” Copia’s glare intensified, and his hand felt hot with the palm pressed to the paperwork beneath it. All the evidence he needed to damn this man was sitting right in front of him. Copia’s guest squirmed even more now under his red hot glare. The man shifted in his chair, leaning the other way, and running a hurried hand through his hair as he did so. 

“Copia, look, if this is about when we were kids…” He sighed, leaning forward and pushing his elbows to his knees. “Kids fuck up, Copia. We were children. I’m...I just wanted the better floors, that’s all. Actually, I…” He leaned back in his seat, rubbing his chin with his hand before he spoke. “I wanted to speak to you because I figured we had history. I was kind of hoping you’d look the other way, if I’m being honest.” His voice was smooth but pressing; a sense of falsity to him. His eyes skittered from the desk to the floor; his hands were tightening, and he was blinking rapidly. Copia sat stunned in his chair; his hand on the pile of paperwork fell away into his lap. He couldn’t help the bitter laughter that crawled up out of his throat. It started so low and dark that, at first, the man across from him thought Copia might be coughing. But he wasn’t. It started out as a low thrumming and began to rise in tempo and intensity—eventually becoming a shrill, astringent sound. The man in the uncomfortable chair furrowed his brow, his fingers beginning to dig into the arms of the chair he was in. Copia’s laughter began to die down as he shook his head. He took off his biretta and ran his hands through his hair, messing it up and discarding the hat on the desktop. Finally, he leaned forward and sighed, looking down at the top of the desk in front of him. He did not look up as he spoke. 

“We have history. Yes.” His hair fell into his eyes as he looked up. “We do have a lot of history, don’t we, Peter?” Peter, once Copia’s childhood tormentor and now a man, sat across from Copia, staring at him with beady eyes. His fingers were tightly woven together. Copia smiled—a wide, devious thing. He picked up the paperwork written out as a financial expenditure request and began to fold it up meticulously into three neat sections. As soon as he’d finished, he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a stamp and a pad of ink. With a swift stroke, he opened the pad of ink, pounded the stamp down, and marked the page with one official and thorough motion. He folded it back up and slid it across his desk. 

“Your request is officially denied, frater.” Copia neatly interlocked his fingers together, mirroring the other man’s posture. Peter did not move. His eyes flicked from the letter in front of him to Copia’s face for several seconds, perhaps close to a minute. 

“Are you serious, Copia?” He leaned forward in his uncomfortable chair, his face turning red. “Everything that happened back then was just stupid, ignorant, childish kid shit! We’re adults. You’re going to turn around after all these years and do this? How old are you?” He scoffed and stood up, going to grab for the letter. But he was stopped. Copia held the letter down with his index finger as he stood up to look the other man in the eye. The silence in the room was heavy. 

“Do you really think I would be so petty, frater?” Every word that came out of his mouth was like ice. They both stood there, locked in a tight silence that brokered absolutely no terms. Peter said nothing though. As he pulled away from the letter, figuring it better to leave it there than try for it once more, he felt the, sudden and heavy, presence of a hand on his shoulder. He looked up and saw the silver mask of a tall ghoul, the low light from the room bouncing off the metal. He gulped down his next breath as Copia pulled the paperwork back to his side of the desk. “And by the way, Peter.” The other man, distracted by Copia, turned and looked: his face was abject horror, his mouth agape, his eyes wide and the ghoul behind him simply clapped both his hands tighter on the man’s shoulders. “I am the Auctoritatis of all the cardinals for the Emeritus Church,” his voice was dark as he leaned forward—making sure Peter could see his eyes, making sure that Peter would never forget, “and you will address me as _Cardinal_ Copia.” With that, he looked to the ghoul and nodded his head, and the man known as Peter was whisked away to the catacombs. The sounds of the ghoul’s boots echoed as they pounded away out the back of Copia’s office and down into the darkest depths where the church kept its deepest secrets. 

Copia looked down at the denied request. He picked it up and opened it once more, reading the long list of expenditures; seeing the money add up. A snarl began to cross his face, and he crumpled the request up in his hands tightly. The paper almost cut the palms of his hands as he balled it up with a little too much effort. With something between a growl and a sound of primal rage, he threw the ball at the burning fireplace, leaning half way across his desk to do so. It bounced into the flames, catching fire, only to roll out onto the floor and burn into a pile of ash on the stone. He stared at it, his eyes burned and felt wet, but it wasn’t with sadness or rage—it was disappointment. He began to pace; back and forth, back and forth, from the door back to the wall covered in books. He paced for what seemed like hours. Finally, he began to tire and sat back down in the chair at his desk. He leaned his head on his fist, his elbow propping him up. He could feel the hot tears falling from the corners of his eyes now. He leaned back into his chair, burying his face in his hands—just as he had all those years ago. 


	3. Decisions and Debates

_ Sweden _

_ September 8th, 2017 _

_ 11:18 AM _

“As we discussed previously, you will have to choose your replacement, Signe. Are you prepared to do that? Or have you selected someone since the last time we spoke?” Sister Imperator’s voice brokered no argument or discussion regarding the topic. Signe nodded her head quietly, a strand of grey hair falling from the loose bun she had her hair pulled back in. The clock on the wall ticked by slowly. 

“I am aware, Sister Imperator.” Her voice was firm. “Knowing this, as we discussed before, I have already done all the leg work.” Sister Imperator fished for her glasses, which hung around her neck. She placed them on the end of her nose carefully as Signe Rask pulled out a manila file and laid it on the desk between them. She opened it and began to file through several pieces of paper. Stopping every so often to look at this one or that one until, finally, she pulled up one in particular. 

“This is the one I want to reach out to.” She pushed the paperwork towards Sister Imperator, who took it in her hands and skimmed through it. 

“So, they haven't applied? You just want to reach out to them and see if they would be interested in our offer?” Sister Imperator watched Signe Rask over the top of her glasses, her eyes unblinking; her mouth a straight line. Signe smiled broadly, adjusting her glasses up the bridge of her nose. 

“Just as you all reached out to me all those years ago, I wanted to do the same with this one. They have an incredible track record, and I think they can pick up where I will leave off. Perhaps, do an even better job than I did.” Signe chuckled lightly, leaning back in her chair. Sister Imperator nodded stiffly and silently. She turned the paperwork over in her hands, flipping through the pages. 

“They do have an impressive resume. I will say that.” Sister Imperator squinted at the last page. “Signe, is this person...a lawyer?” She looked up at the woman across from her. Signe nodded her head this way and that, opening and shutting her mouth several times as she thought. 

“On that: I am unsure. Though, it doesn't look like they ever practiced as one.” She leaned forward, lowering her voice slightly. “They have a JD—also known as a ‘Doctor of Jurisprudence.’” Imperator glared slightly at that but Signe continued. “Obviously, they attended law school, and it is mentioned when they passed the bar exam. However, they don’t appear to be working for any law firm in any capacity. Or ever did, really, judging from their resume of previous work experience that I could find.” As Signe spoke she reached forward and flipped back some pages to the record of where the person had worked and when. She pointed to the most current occupation title. “They are currently the chief official of a law archive in Washington D.C. in the United States.” Sister Imperator looked up at Signe Rask from over her glasses, both her eyebrows raised. She laid the paperwork down on her desk gently and pulled her glasses from her nose, laying them down on the desk. She drew in a sharp breath as she wove her fingers together in her lap. 

“Signe, I trust your judgment. You know that,” she looked directly across the desk at the other woman, her eyes were calculating slits, “But this worries me. This person is...” Sister Imperator gestured to the paperwork with a vague offhanded wave. “This person is obviously very qualified but is also, frankly, very dangerous.” Signe nodded her head quietly and the room descended into a taut silence. 

“Why would they be dangerous, Audra? Simply because they’re a lawyer? There’s no sign at all of any sort of actual legal debating here. They never worked for a law firm. From what I noticed, I see someone who took a different path. That's all.” Signe shrugged once more, a soft, warm smile on her face. Sister Imperator watched the other woman closely. Her eyes darting from the paperwork to Signe Rask and then back again. Finally, she leaned back in her chair, sighing. 

“I suppose you’re right. I’m just wary.” She sighed heavily. “Wary of having someone with a lot of legal expertise elbow deep in a lot of paperwork and records. Papers and records that perhaps someone with legal expertise shouldn’t be privy to.” Sister Imperator pursed her lips as she looked up at Signe. The other woman shrugged once more; this time it was an indifferent motion, as though she were tired of this debate. 

“In all honesty, Audra, I don’t think there’s anything in there a strict non-disclosure agreement couldn’t close off. I’m sure they’d be fine signing one, and I’m sure they’d understand why you asked them to.” Signe Rask said very matter-of-factly. The clock in the room ticked loudly as the two women sat across from one another, staring at the paperwork in front of them. Finally, Imperator sighed, shrugging her shoulders. 

“Alright, give this person a call. Or send them a letter—whichever you think would work best.” She started to clean her desk up, putting her glasses away and her pens. Signe Rask simply nodded and shuffled the paperwork back together, tapping them all on the desk once they were bundled up. She placed all the choices in the manila file, but as she closed it, Sister Imperator looked up and held her index finger in the air for a moment. “Forgive me, Signe, but I’ve forgotten this person's name. What was it again?” Signe Rask raised her eyebrows, reopening the manila file in front of her once more. She ran her finger down the paperwork in front of her. 

“Oh yes, of course, just a minute.” She laughed to herself as she continued to run her finger down the paperwork and turned it over to the next page, looking fervently for a name. “Here we go. Their name is Lydia Wolfe, Esq.” Signe looked up at Sister Imperator as she spoke. The clock on the wall continued to tick. 


	4. Day to Day

_ Sweden _

_ October 3rd, 2017 _

_ 7:41 AM _

A pale arm emerged from a pile of blankets to swat with purpose at a cellphone, which was blaring its alarm for all the world to hear. The arm missed once; twice; but on the third strike, the alarm was silenced. The form under the blankets groaned into the pillow, then lay still for a moment longer as though begging for more time from somewhere in the universe, but knowing full well there wasn’t any to spare. Finally, the form sat up, blankets pooling down by his waist. And with that, Cardinal Copia was somewhat awake. 

He set about shuffling from his bed to his bathroom. Naked as the day he was born, he stood in front of the mirror and looked at the dark circles under his eyes. He gave a resigned sigh and reached for the mouthwash, not bothering to brush. He leaned forward over the toilet, his left hand propping him up, and he followed his usual morning routine. The toilet lid slammed shut, followed by the ever-familiar flush, and he walked out of the bathroom and looked around the room. His eyes finally found where he’d thrown his cassock the night before. He picked his black pants up off the floor and hopped into them one leg at a time. Then went to the trouble anyway and pulled out a clean, pressed, white button-down shirt. He put it on and buttoned it all the way up to the top. Then he scrambled into his cassock, buttoning it up the rest of the way. He muttered to himself under his breath as he went through the rest of his movements. He put his phone on silent and dropped it in his pocket. 

It didn’t take him long to leave his quarters, locking the door behind him firmly. He walked down the stone hallway and turned the corner, going up a flight of stairs and then down another hallway. He meandered—not bothering to run anywhere and surely not interested in getting there too quickly. Some people nodded to him and smiled as he walked past them; a sister of sin waved. He gave her a small, forced smile and continued on his way. He stood aside as a group of Uninitiated ran by him screaming and the abbess, following dutifully behind, telling them to keep quiet. Once more, he gave a weak smile at the abbess and then slowly carried on his way. 

He walked down out of the main hall and through the large front doors. It was early morning, and the wind was brisk. The ground was not yet covered in a layer of snow. Everyone who passed by him was on their way to complete their morning duties, but Copia took his time. He walked carefully along the main path leading down to the chapel. It followed the driveway along, curve and all, and opened up into a lower section of the complex that was next to a well-kept and orderly garage—tucked neatly behind everything else. He followed the path down and around to the chapel; shockingly, the grass was still very green here. He glanced over to his left, and across the lawn, he recognized Signe Rask: though she had aged, she was still much the same. She was talking and walking with someone he didn’t recognize; they had their back to him. He sighed to himself and continued on his way, not really interested in meeting new people at the present moment. His footsteps carried him to the chapel doors. He went around the side, following another smaller stone path, and soon came up to a smaller, wooden door, which he unlocked quickly with his own key. He slid inside and shut the door—silent as a church mouse. There was no one there yet, and he was just fine with that. 

He liked to be alone. It reminded him of when he was a kid: there was safety in solitude. He walked over to the large confessional booth along the side of the room, opened the door sat down, and waited. From the pocket of his robes, he pulled out his notebook and a pen. In the upper right-hand portion of the page, he wrote the date. He found himself humming along to some unknown tune as he doodled here and there. The other door to the confessional opened, and on the other side, Sister Freja popped her head in—her long auburn hair pulled away from her face and up into a bun. 

“Cardinal, are you ready?” she asked as she picked up an idle piece of trash on the ground inside the booth. 

“Yes, sister,” he said as he looked up at her, covering his notebook with the sleeves of his cassock. She didn’t notice it—again. For the 15 millionth time, she didn’t notice it. He blamed the poor lighting, but he considered it a blessing. Sister Freja nodded silently, reaching up to turn the light off in the booth. 

“Very good, I’ll send them in as they come. There’s no one waiting in line or anything, but that's fine for you, I’m sure.” She chuckled as she shut the door. He drew in a breath and went back to doodling on the notebook. 

“Yes, fine for me,” he whispered quietly to himself. The only sound was the scratching of his pen on the paper as he waited. 


	5. A Visitor

_Sweden_

_October 6th, 2017_

_9:14 PM_

It didn’t take her long to unpack her things. Lydia had arrived three days prior, and so far, it was shaping up to be an odd journey. Signe Rask had been so kind as to show Lydia to her quarters, which were meager at best if she was being truthful. It was a simple studio apartment with a small kitchen in the basement of the largest building on the property. It was cold and grim though and Lydia had resigned herself to living in her office, which she was very impressed with. Signe Rask had walked her down to here, to where she sat cross legged on the cold marble floor. She gave Lydia the key and told her the door stuck a little, chuckling as she did so. When the door opened, Lydia saw huge windows that let in every ounce of light from the sun. She had remarked on how she wouldn’t need lamps. Signe Rask simply laughed lightly, as though she knew better. Which apparently she did. 

Now, in the dark of night it was cold, and the only light in the room was from the fireplace. She had been coming up to this office every day she’d been there, and hating her own personal quarters was not helping the situation at all. She’d been looking through basic paperwork the whole evening, trying to understand how it all worked. She read voraciously through several filing cabinets and spare archival boxes. Signe had been kind enough to point out certain books in the library Lydia may find helpful. She had the books stacked on her desk in a neat little pile. She got up from the floor and sighed, wiping her hands on one another and dust went flying into the air as she did so. She walked over to the desk and stood over it, filing through the books casually. She opened the cover of the first one and glanced inside, then closed it. She repeated the process several times with the rest. The books now lay scattered and divided on her desk. She let out an audible sigh as she checked her phone and saw the time. 

“I should go back to that horrible little room they gave me,” she said dryly under her breath as she turned around and leaned on the edge of the desk. She crossed her arms over her chest and stood there in silence for a moment, thinking. Though, it wasn’t long before she was interrupted by a strange scratching sound. She looked over into the darkness, the location of the scratching noise became louder, and she noticed they were accompanied by soft little squeaks. In bare feet, she walked quietly and carefully over to where the noise was coming from. There was little to no light so she pulled out her cellphone, turning on the torch. Some paperwork moved as whatever it was squirreled about back there, shuffling through the stray papers and empty boxes—almost as if it was plowing through them.

“Are you a cat?” she asked aloud as she picked up an empty archival box and looked down to see a giant, white rat, complete with a long pink tail. “You’re a rat! But you’re a fancy rat. You’re someone’s pet, aren’t you?” Her voice carried through the long stone corridor of the office, and the rat squeaked delightedly with every word, raising itself up on its hind legs momentarily before returning to snuffling through boxes and paperwork. Lydia bit her bottom lip. “Well, you’re not afraid of me. Nor are you attacking me. You are a big thing, though! How did you even get in here?” she asked the animal, knowing full well it wouldn’t answer, but she was pleasantly surprised when the white rat turned around and waddled back the way it came. She watched it closely, holding up her cellphone so she could see better, she watched as the rat made its way back to a hole in the wall. 

“Huh, you don’t look like you’d fit in that,” she said as she gazed down the narrow tube in the wall. “I guess rats can squish themselves up, right? Yeah, I think that’s how it works.” She watched the rat as it came waddling back to her, leaning against her shins like a cat would when it wanted to be pet. Never one to be terrified of animals, Lydia reached down and ran a single finger along the rat’s back. “There,” she said as she stood upright. “Now you belong to me.” The rat stood on his hind legs and rested his paws against her shins. She furrowed her brow, looking at it for perhaps a moment too long. She pulled back and away from it, making a soft sound like one would call for a dog. “Come along then. I suspect you are interested in something to eat?” It was as though the rat could understand English as it followed along after her, squeaking delightedly as they headed towards a mini refrigerator in the corner. 


	6. Bernard of Clairvaux

_Sweden_

_October 8th, 2017_

_10:11 PM_

“This is the third time in a row,” Copia said to himself quietly as he looked behind some curtains in the library. He pushed the heavy fabric out of the way but found nothing more than dust. He grunted out of irritation. He had searched his own quarters; he’d browsed through the kitchen; and he’d tried looking in hallways as quietly as possible, but to no avail. He’d been searching for hours by the time he reached the library, which was deathly quiet at this hour. Most of the lamps were out, and no one was seen sitting around reading or taking notes. The only light was in the sconces along the walls and the huge fireplace at the end of the large hall. The large floor-to-ceiling windows were letting in nothing but darkness and the slightest slivers of the waning, overshadowed moon. His footsteps were soft against the stone floor. “This is getting ridiculous,” he muttered to himself, though he certainly didn’t stop looking. As he passed by the two shelves, which were pushed together too tightly, he could hear the faintest sound of a voice. 

Stopping in his tracks, he leaned this way and that, trying to hear whatever it was and trying to figure out exactly where it was coming from. He tilted his head to the right and began to walk himself between the two tightly pushed-together shelves and towards the old door that stuck in the wall a little crookedly. The voice was getting louder and clearer now. He looked straight ahead at the door, listening as the sounds of speech could be heard through the old wood. He looked at the door handle, squinting slightly as he laid the flat of his gloved palm against it and pushed down slowly. The door began to open, and the voice from inside was louder now. 

“I can’t believe you’ll eat other things. You’re like a dog. You just want a little bit of everything.” It was a woman’s voice. It was bright and upbeat and cheery. Copia walked slowly, weaving through the towers of boxes and piles of books and paperwork as he went, trying not to knock anything down. He walked quietly though, unhindered, and was soon greeted by an unusual sight: a woman with short, red hair, cropped closely to her head. She was wearing glasses and a white blouse with a black pencil skirt; but she was barefoot, sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace. More alarmingly, she was feeding his pet rat by hand. Copia’s mouth fell open at the sight but it didn’t take long for him to gather himself. 

“What are you doing?” he said clearly, his voice cutting through the darkened room. The woman didn’t flinch, but instead looked up directly at him and stared. Her eyes were squinted at him. 

“I should ask the same of you! This is my office, and who are you to come into this office uninvited?” She said all of this very quickly and sharply as she got up from her position on the floor and dusted herself off. Copia stared ahead of himself at the woman in front of him. His mouth was a straight line, and his eyes were little pin points in the dark. He turned and pointed to the door from whence he came.

“I came here because I heard a voice. This office is supposed to be unoccupied.” His tone was clipped and harsh; his eyes were narrowed. Her back was perfectly straight as she began to walk around the desk. 

“It would have been wise to knock before assuming, don’t you think?” She tilted her head just so as she spoke. Her eyes were unblinking in the darkness. Copia looked her up and down for a moment; surveying her.

“Who are you? Why are you here?” he asked, trying to sound angrier than he felt. The woman did not smile as she spoke, only her left eye brow rose sharply. 

“I will answer neither of those until I know who you are and why you're here—uninvited, may I add.” Her voice was tight and heated. Copia paused for a moment before he held his hands up in a mock defeat. 

“I am Cardinal Copia. I am second only to his Unholiness, Papa Emeritus the Third.” The woman in front of him squinted slightly as he continued. “I walked in here because I heard a voice in an office I had previously thought unoccupied.” He bowed his head slightly, his words were tight as he spoke. “Forgive me, I didn't mean to intrude. Though, I must say, you are in possession of my pet.” He pointed to the white rat, who had up until that time, been gorging himself on a plate of fruit, bits of bagel, and some cheese. The woman drew in a sharp breath, and the slightest smile played on her face. 

“This is your rat then? He’s been visiting me.” She walked back around the desk and gestured for Copia to follow. “I’ve been feeding him whatever I have. He seemed hungry.” Copia sighed and rolled his eyes. 

“He’s not hungry. He’s just fat.” Copia scoffed as he spoke. The woman in front of him gave the softest chuckle as Copia squatted down and held his hands out. The rat walked towards him quickly, a grape caught in his cheeks as he waddled into Copia’s waiting arms.

“He’s like a house cat. He came right over to me when I found him,” she said as she bent over to pick up the plate of excess food on the floor. Copia nodded his head silently as he rubbed the rat’s ears. 

“Weren’t you afraid? I mean, he’s a giant rat. Most people avoid him if they can.” Copia’s eyes widened as he spoke, the slightest smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. The woman in front of him simply shrugged. 

“I grew up in a pretty big, dirty city. I’m used to huge rats—the two legged kind _and_ the four legged kind.” She gave a wry smile as she laid the plate down onto her desk. Copia said nothing, but gave a curt nod. “Well, you held up your end of the bargain, I suppose. I’m Lydia Wolfe. I’m here to replace Dr. Signe Rask.” She held her hand out, and Copia found himself awkwardly juggling a large rat under one arm and trying to shake this woman's hand with the other. He could feel his cheeks turning red as he knew he had bumbled that terribly. 

“Ah, yes. I know Dr. Rask. I didn’t know she was planning on retiring though.” His voice was curious, and he tilted his head just so. Lydia shrugged; indifferent. 

“That’s all she said to me, anyway. That’s why I’m here: to take over where she left off or something or other.” Lydia held her hands out dramatically like she was showing the title to a Broadway musical. Her voice was loud and seemed to bounce off the stone walls. The walls didn’t seem to like that very much; Copia knew on good authority that the library did not enjoy its silence being broken. But, all the same, Copia couldn’t help the smile that made its way across his face, his fingers still rubbing away at his rats ears. Lydia turned back to him then, her hands on her hips. “So what’s his name?” She pointed to the rat. Copia startled and blanked for a moment. 

“Oh, uh, Bernard. I named him Bernard.” He spoke softly, a small smile on his face as he spoke. Lydia nodded. 

“Bernard, that’s an odd name for a rat. How’d you come up with it?” She crossed her arms over her chest. Her mouth was a straight line as she spoke. Copia sighed and could feel his neck heating up, and he found himself very glad for the darkness of the room. 

“It was after Saint Bernard. Or rather, Bernard of Clairvaux, a French abbot in the Catholic Church I had read about several times when I was younger. I always liked his name, and what he did: what with ending the schism in the Catholic Church and then combating the heresy—which was a whole other can of worms. But I always liked his name, so I figured why not name the rat after him.” Copia clamped his mouth shut, his teeth clinking together as he did so, inwardly he cursed himself for rambling. Lydia nodded as she walked closer. 

“I know nothing about the Catholic church or saints or anything of that ilk. So I’ll apologize for my ignorance up front.” Lydia laughed as she spoke, her mouth finally turning into a smile. Copia chuckled. 

“Well, I shouldn’t keep you. Thank you for...feeding my overweight rat, and I hope he didn’t bother you.” Copia teetered from one foot to the other uncomfortably. Lydia waved her hands vaguely at him as she wandered closer to him. 

“No big deal, really. He was a lovely guest. If he wants more cheese, he knows where to find it, I think,” she said as she laughed and reached out, scratching her finger under the rat’s chin. Bernard held his head very still and began to close his eyes.

“Yes, I hope he will remain happy and well fed in my quarters. Again, I apologize for him interrupting you or bothering you.” He bowed his head again. Lydia simply smiled at him. 

“He wasn’t bothering me, Cardinal Copia. Don’t worry. He can come back and visit any time.” She gave him a firm nod of her head and a broad, confident smile. Copia did the same as Bernard squeaked quietly in his arms. Copia began to walk towards the door and out into the library. He could finally feel the tingly sensation running away from his head. He looked down at Bernard as he walked back to his quarters. He spoke to the rat in a quiet, but stern voice. 

“Why did you go down there and bother that woman? You have cheese and fruit at home. You know this.” His voice sounded strained as he whispered into the rat’s ear. They walked in relative silence: up stairways, down several halls, and around tight corners, until they reached Copia’s quarters. Once safely tucked away inside, Copia placed Bernard down on his bed: a large square, uplifted platform that was covered with pillows and several small blankets for nesting. Bernard laid down immediately. Copia shook his head, watching the creature before him. 

“You are already so fat and lazy, and now you think you’ve found someone else to give you cheese and fruit.” Bernard was snuggling into his blankets, and Copia shook his head as he turned away, taking off his hat and casting it aside as he began to unbutton his cassock. Soon that was in a puddle on the ground, and his fingers were working at the buttons on his shirt. Once unbuttoned, he pulled his shirt tail from his pants and sat down against the edge of his bed. He ran a hand through his greasy hair, scratching here and there as he did so. Soon the palms of his hands were rubbing at his eyes, and he opened his mouth to yawn. He pushed his shoes off with his feet, one at a time, and they hit the floor with a resounding _clunk clunk_ as he scooted backwards onto the bed and flopped back. He lay there and stared at the ceiling for some time, listening to the sounds of Bernard in the other room, rustling around. “Her name was Lydia. I wonder how long she’ll be here,” he muttered to himself. He lay there with his hands crossed over his stomach, staring up at the ceiling. It wasn’t long before he felt his eyelids growing heavy, and then everything faded away to a dreamless sleep. 

The next thing he knew, his alarm was going off. 


	7. The Order of Things

_ Sweden _

_ October 10th, 2017 _

_ 9:13 AM _

“I’ve worked on all of these. They just need to be shelved and cataloged,” Signe said as her hands moved over the boxes with care. Lydia followed behind her dutifully, with a packet of sticky notes. She was writing it all down as they walked and then slamming a sticky note on the boxes, saying nothing as they went. She simply hummed her agreement or understanding and allowed the other woman to give a guided tour. “All of these are...well, ancient. But you may need to enlist the help of some of the other church members for some of this.” Signe’s voice was almost a whisper as she pulled up her reading glasses onto her nose from a necklace. She squinted at the writing on the boxes and shook her head. “For the life of me I can’t make that out. Too messy. Alright, well, let’s move along.” Signe began to walk away, but as she passed the box, Lydia looked down at the scrawl on the side of it: strange runes. Lydia stood up straight as she spoke. 

“Do these markings mean anything? Is there a code I should know about?” She was scribbling on the notepad she had in her hand as Signe surveyed her. Lydia was only a little shorter than Signe. She had the same red hair color that Signe once had many years ago—long before it all turned to silver. Albeit, Lydia’s was much shorter than Signe’s had ever been. But that was the way of things. She let out a sigh as she surveyed the boxes that Lydia had been pointing at and was currently placing sticky notes for her own reference later. 

“It is a system. But I will have to ask the Overseer if that’s something outside of your NDA or not.” Signe’s voice was pleasant enough, and her smile was as well. But as Lydia simply smiled and nodded back, Signe returning to the guided tour, Lydia couldn’t stop herself from fishing her phone out of her pocket and quickly taking a photo of the markings on the side of the box. She pocketed her phone and doodled on the notepad in her hand as she walked with haste to catch up to Signe. 

“These artifacts will be left where they are,” Signe said, gesturing with her hands to whatever was covered in a large white sheet. “Someone else needs to deal with these. But aside from that, I think that's everything for now. Of course, there will be other things in other parts of the archive and library that you’ll need to look at, but that should be a good place to start.” Signe had a gentle smile on her face, her hands folded in front of her. Lydia did not smile. She nodded her head tightly; her mouth was a straight line, and her eyes were focused on the notepad in her hand. 

“This seems manageable.” Her voice was clipped and to the point. She looked up from her notepad and gazed around the room, nodding to herself. “I’m sure there will be more as we go along.”

“Oh yes, of course. There’s always more.” Signe laughed. Lydia did not smile back but instead fired another question, her hands now firmly placed on her hips as she spoke. 

“What about information regarding people’s personal lives? Birth certificates, death certificates, things of that nature? Am I permitted to work with those or do I need the permission of the Overseer?” That last word came out of her mouth with just the slightest bit of sarcasm. Her eyebrows were raised as she waited. 

“I can ask him for you, if you’d like.” Signe gave a dry-humored grin, and before Lydia could respond, Signe continued: “May I ask you a question before we continue?” She pushed her hands into her pockets as Lydia nodded firmly. “I noticed on your resume that you have never worked in a law firm. I don’t mean to be rude, but I am curious why you’re standing in front of me and not in a courtroom hashing it out with a judge.” Signe kept the same smile on her face; it was polite but firm. Lydia did not smile, her hands still sitting on her hips. Her eyes were focused on Signe, straight ahead. 

“I never really liked being a lawyer. I always liked being a librarian,” she said curtly. 

Signe furrowed her brow. “Then why not be a librarian?” she asked. 

“I wanted something more than a master’s degree,” Lydia said in one breath. She didn’t miss a beat in between inhaling and exhaling. Signe nodded her head gently. 

“Well, know that I was simply curious.” She gave another smile as she tucked a loose strand of long silver hair behind her ear. Lydia gave a tight nod of her head.

“Shall we?” Lydia asked, gesturing to the rest of the room. Signe continued to walk through the huge expanse, gesturing to this pile of boxes, then a pile of old books, some paperwork, and eventually more boxes piled upon more boxes. Lydia labeled them all dutifully and effectively. Signe spoke about the books and laid her hands on them like she were visiting old friends, but Lydia was unmoved. Instead, she simply hummed in agreement or thought whenever Signe said anything, efficiently slapping a sticky note on whatever she decided needed it. After some time they reached the back of the room, where the floor began to slope downwards, and they walked through an ancient stone tunnel with even older stone floors that were covered in dust and dirt from years of neglect. 

“Down here is all the records for the clergy, employees, and Uninitiated.” Signe waved her hand vaguely at some open boxes, paperwork in piles and shoved haphazardly into them. Lydia hummed idly as she walked up behind Signe and began to dig around in one of the boxes. She flipped through some paperwork, her brow furrowed as she pulled it out, blowing the dust off of it as she did so. 

“What are these...Uninitiated?” Lydia asked, looking up over top of her glasses. She did not blink as she spoke, and her mouth was a stern, straight line. 

“Uninitiated are children. Anyone under 18, essentially, who is not legally allowed to join the church yet but also has nowhere else to go.” Signe shrugged as she spoke, her hands falling limply to her sides. Lydia nodded stiffly as she gazed at the paperwork. 

“So what happens when they’re 18?” She asked, her eyes scanning the paperwork clasped in her hand. 

“Well, they either join the church or they can leave. It’s entirely up to them.” Signe’s voice was concise and clear. Lydia said nothing; instead, she continued digging through the box. Her notepad, which previously had been clutched tightly in her hand, was now in her shirt pocket as she dug through the box one hand after the other. 

“I take it that if they chose to stay, they are put to work somewhere in the church?” Lydia questioned clearly and sharply. She turned around to look at Signe, a pile of papers in her hand. Signe nodded her head silently. “Easy labor force then: taking in children who have no home and nowhere to go and then allowing them to grow up in the shadow of an institution—only to put them to work within said institution 18 years later. Clever.” Lydia’s voice was cutting and dry. Every word was hand chosen as a purposefully harsh critique. Signe nodded in agreement, sighing as she drew her arms up and crossed them in front of her. 

“Yes, that is true. It is a clever system for gaining a workforce for free.” Signe said plainly. “But many of them go on to live rich and fulfilling lives, doing many good things for those around them. Even if they are part of a machine.” A gentle smile appeared on her face; she looked tired. Lydia looked up from the paperwork, she squinted slightly. 

“Have any of the Uninitiated ever climbed the ladder to the top?” Lydia asked directly as she placed the paperwork back down into the box. Dust flew up in a puff as she did so. She coughed, waving her hand around in front of her in an attempt to disperse the small cloud. Signe smiled, turning to some other boxes in the room as she spoke. 

“Of course. There are a few that come to mind.” Signe thought for a moment before she continued. “Though, I think the most notable is Cardinal Copia.” She nodded to herself as she spoke, placing a lid on an open box. Lydia said nothing but raised her eyebrows as she wrote on her notepad and placed the sticky note to the lid of the box in front of her. 

“He was an Uninitiated?” Lydia asked quietly as she began to walk around the room, still writing as she went. Signe nodded her head. 

“Yes. I met him when he was three.” Signe shook her head slightly at the memory. “He was wearing those white robes they all wear. He ran straight into me. Made eye contact with me and just walked right into me in the library.” Signe chuckled at the memory, a wide grin appearing on her face. 

“So he started out as nothing and worked his way up to cardinal?” Lydia asked as she busied herself with opening boxes and peering inside them—only to slam the lid shut and slap a sticky note on it. Signe nodded her head.

“That he did, yes,” Signe said as she walked behind Lydia, looking at the flurry of notes on boxes. “He became the Auctoritatis of the Cardinals in 2003, I believe.” Signe’s voice began to peter out as she tried to read Lydia’s handwriting, only to find that it was some kind of code she could not understand. 

“I take it he’s second in command then?” Lydia asked, rifling through a pile of old books. Signe tilted her head this way and that. 

“Partially,” Signe said and fell silent. Lydia did not press her but instead went back to opening boxes. Signe watched quietly for a moment or more, simply watching Lydia write everything down and then slap a note on a box. “Well,” Signe said as she tucked her hands into her pockets. “I’ll leave you to it then. I’ll try and find the system for those other markings on that box for you.” 

“Very good. Thank you,” Lydia said and continued to work, not looking up at all. Signe said nothing and began the painful task of walking back up the tunnel to the main room. She walked slowly through the main office that was once her own and pulled open the door, slipping out into the library. By the time she reached the library though, her whole body hurt. She winced silently to herself as she sat down in a chair by the large fireplace, which sat gaping and enormous at the far end of the room. She watched as people walked by; some of them she knew, and she waved or smiled at them. They waved and smiled back and then carried on their way. She sat there for some time, waiting. Waiting for the pain to go away. She stared into the flames in the fireplace, listening to the vague hustle and bustle of the early morning foot traffic. She leaned back into the chair and simply stared for the longest time. Finally, she sighed and stood up, rubbing the palms of her hands on her pants. As she turned to walk away from the fireplace, she was momentarily distracted by a dark figure high up in the ramparts of the ceiling. They moved quickly, and as soon as they were in sight, it seemed as though they were out of it. Signe let a slight smile appear on her features as she turned to walk out of the library. 

Her eyes glanced up once more to the dark ramparts hanging from the ceiling as she whispered to herself, “You better be right about this, you old bat.” 


	8. Kept Secrets

_ Sweden _

_ October 12th, 2017 _

_ 4:17 PM _

“I just don’t know what to do. Should I tell her or should I not?” 

“I am having the time of my life. But I also don’t really know where all this will lead.”

“I miss my family, and I can’t call them or anything.” 

“I really like it here; there's this sense of belonging that I never had before.”

“It's so creepy here at night. Much creepier than I thought it would be.” 

“I wish I could have pets.”

“The food is alright, for a great big corporate compound. I’m a little shocked.” 

Copia sat and listened for hours. People coming and going. They sat down and explained their woes or simply prattled on with no real end in sight. He gave advice as he saw fit: some of it was bland, and some of it was useful. He continued to scribble in his notepad, which sat precariously on his thigh. He didn’t look up when he was spoken to; he didn’t look up when he responded. He simply sat and wrote in his notebook and listened for hours and hours on end. Every now and then though, something would pique his interest.

“I have a job in town on the weekends, and I’ve been getting paid far too much. I think it’s an accounting error, but I haven't said anything, and the owner hasn’t either! I don’t know what to do.” A small voice from the other side of the confessional divide said. Copia stopped writing for a moment. He looked up straight ahead of himself, his left eyebrow going up. He cleared his throat.

“You are only accepting money from a capitalist enterprise. Is there some sort of ethical issue at stake?” Copia asked as warmly as he could. He gripped the pen in his hand; waiting. The person on the other side of the screen faltered. They opened their mouth to speak, only to clamp their jaw shut with a harsh click. Copia did not look directly at them through the finely meshed screen, but instead stared at his notepad in his lap. The small voice spoke up once more, this time almost a whisper. 

“I just...I don't think it's right.” The voice on the other side petered away into nothing. 

“You have an ethical issue with the idea of you continuing to accept the money when you know that it is not your legal wage,” Copia said gently, reassuringly almost. He readjusted himself in his seat, beginning to scribble something down on the notepad on his lap. The confessional was silent save for the sounds of Copia’s pen on the paper, scraping away at the parchment. “You could say something to your employer,” he offered, continuing to write on the notepad in front of him. The person on the other side of the screen shook their head, rubbing at their eyes as they spoke. 

“No, it's been way too long. They’re going to know I didn't report it sooner. They’ll know why I didn’t report it, and then they’ll accuse me of theft, and then they’ll want it back, and it’ll be this huge mess, and I can’t handle that. But, I do have it all saved up anyway. I didn’t spend any of it. I guess…” They paused for a moment, running an errant hand through their hair as they did so, “I guess I could just return it. Return it and pray.” Copia scoffed quietly, more to himself than to the other person. 

“Have you considered donating the excess funds to something?” His voice was smooth and low as he spoke. The person across from him shook their head. 

“No, I was too busy worrying whether I’d be arrested for theft.” They chuckled dryly. Copia grinned, still writing in his notepad. 

“You could donate it to the church.” He continued to write in his notepad, his pen scratching on the paper, the only sound besides his voice. “All donations to the church are private and protected, after all. Especially since, well, this is a confessional. No one can ask me—or the church—anything about it. You would receive, I’m sure, something worth your woe and agony for such a generous gift.” A sly grin appeared on his face. His pen continued to dig into the paper. The person across from him sat in silence, their hands covering their face. He didn’t look at them. His vision simply slid across them and then back down to his notepad. He let the silence grow between them until the other person sighed, rubbing their face with their hands once more. 

“Then I can quit my job. Just disappear.” They whispered to themselves. Their eyes seemed to glaze over as they realized they’d found a solution. “Thank you, really.” They spoke quickly and got up, exiting the confessional in a flurry of activity. The door shut behind them softly, and Copia could hear their footsteps as they disappeared out the front door. He checked his phone: it was 4:47 PM, and he was tired. He closed his notepad and exited, stepping down onto the black marble floors of the chapel. There was no one else there. His foot falls echoed throughout the cavernous building. He exited through the backdoor and walked through the grass, up to the extended wing of the library. He entered through a side door of the library and made his way through the throngs of people who were heading to dinner. Some of them waved or smiled, and he nodded stiffly back to them or flashed them a ready made grin. He ascended the stairs up into the clergy quarters as quickly as he could.

Upon entering his quarters he shut the door behind himself and locked it. He took out the notepad he’d been writing on and sat down at his desk. He scanned over the pages, reading what he’d written down: someone confessed that they had romantic feelings for someone who was not their spouse; another person missed their family and was probably experiencing regrets of joining the church; one person seemed particularly fine with the whole thing—and that included the food. still, yet another was more fascinating to Copia: the one committing theft. He had an idea of who they were, but now he just wanted to save the information somewhere he wouldn’t forget. He wrote it all down in longhand on a piece of clean paper, organizing it neatly with the date and the time and exactly what had happened. He put a reminder on his desk to check with the donations office about large sums of money coming through later that week, and with that, he folded the paper up and rose from his chair. He opened the front drawer on his desk, pulling out a heavy golden key and humming as he did so. Walking over to the far wall by the entrance to his bedroom, he walked up to a large, wooden filing cabinet, put the key in its side lock, and turned it with a deep, audible click. Copia rolled the drawer open and rifled through it for a moment, still humming a tune that was unidentifiable. His fingers flew over the tabs and the hanging files until he finally reached the one he wanted. He pulled it open and dropped the piece of paper down into it. He closed the filing cabinet drawer with a heavy  _ clunk _ , locked it, and walked away.

Once he’d returned the key back to its hiding place in the top drawer of his desk, Copia pulled his cassock unceremoniously over his head, throwing it onto the back of his chair and wandering into his kitchen. He opened the refrigerator door, letting the cool air wash over him, but there was nothing of interest. Instead, his eyes landed on the dill-flavored chips on the counter. Grabbing the bag, he went and flopped himself into his bed, turning on the television. It wasn’t long after that his white t-shirt, covered in stains and marks, was now being used as a napkin while he flipped through channels. He sighed when he realized the bag he had been snacking on was empty, and he placed it on the nightstand. He continued to lay there and gaze endlessly at the television. Just as his eyelids were getting heavy, he felt something crawling up the foot of the bed. 

“Come here.” He patted his stomach, and Bernard the rat popped his head up. With all the swiftness a rat could muster—which was a surprising amount—he was soon curled up in the crook between Copia’s arm and his side. The white rat made soft squeaking sounds, which the television readily drowned out. It wasn’t long before Copia’s eyes were closed, and he was snoring away. Bernard simply sat guard, and to the untrained eye, it may have appeared Bernard was watching the television. But that couldn’t be right. He was a rat, after all, and rats don’t watch television. 


	9. Odd Songs

_Sweden_

_October 14th, 2017_

_8:15 PM_

At night the library was usually silent—the books certainly had nothing to say. There was no one around, and thus, the library fell into a gentle, undisturbed reticence. Copia had decided to cut through the library on his way back from a meeting, the sound of his shoes on the marble floors echoing throughout the empty hall. Only the books to hear him now—or so he thought. As he walked past the fireplace, which sat at the far end of the room and whose mantle piece stood a haughty three meters high, he stopped himself in his tracks. He could hear humming. It was distant and small, but wherever it was coming from the room was making it echo out across the marble floors. He walked as quietly as he could, and as he moved forward he noticed it was getting louder. Whoever it was had a constant song they were humming, and he could tell it was something they knew well. Finally, he reached a point where the humming was much louder than before. He walked up to the two bookshelves and peered down the middle. Seated on the floor was the same woman from before, this time digging through a box and pulling out ancient books. Copia wanted to leave, but there was a voice in his head urging him to stay. For the rest of his life, he’d never know what really compelled him to stay. He cleared his throat. 

Lydia stopped humming and looked up at him directly, a small grin appearing on her face. “Hello again.” She rubbed her hands together, ridding them of excess dust. Copia nodded to her, his gloved hands behind his back. 

“Hello again.” He looked around for a fraction of a moment. “What are you...uh, doing up at this hour? Shouldn’t you be in your quarters?” He winced as the words left his mouth. Lydia chuckled. 

“I hate my quarters!” she said brightly. “And besides, I work better at night when no one is around to disturb me.” She gave a firm nod of her head. Copia raised an eyebrow. 

“Why do you hate your quarters, if I may ask?” He felt his right hand tighten its grip on his left wrist behind his back. Lydia ran an errant dust covered hand through her short red hair. She sighed, a smile on her face as she did so. When she smiled, he noticed how straight and white her teeth were. 

“Do you want the truth or do you want me to sugar coat it for you to save your feelings about your church and the way it’s run?” Every word that came out of her mouth was pronounced perfectly. Her voice was sharp and bright. She spoke with more confidence than Copia thought could even be in the world at any one time. Subsequently, his mouth fell open slightly, only for him to shut it with a sharp click. He let out a soft laugh that crawled out from under his breath. 

“The truth is preferred.” He shifted slightly from one foot to the other. Lydia began to stand up, dusting her hands off on her pants once more. 

“When one invites someone to their home, what do you do?” Her voice was smooth and warm. She held her hands out and her eyebrows went up, as though she were waiting for a response from him. But just before he uttered even a syllable, she answered her own question. “That's right!” She pointed at him. “You welcome them to your home and give them polite and clean accommodations.” The smile on her face faded in an instant as she continued, her voice growing more intense as she spoke. “You do not package them up in a room the size of a postage stamp with a bed that has a dip in it, the walls stained with cigarette smoke and sheets and pillows which have not been washed in an age. It’s just rude.” She folded her arms across her chest, her head tilted back as she surveyed him with a stern gaze. Copia stared at her for a moment; he squinted, the smallest grin appearing on his face.

“That doesn’t sound very welcoming at all.” He thought for a moment, pausing in between words. “Which wing did they put you in?” He asked, tilting his head to the side as he waited. She laughed. 

“Wing? I have no idea. There are no windows and I have to go downstairs to get to it. There’s no one down there. If I’m very quiet I can hear water dripping ominously from somewhere.” She gave a sarcastic laugh. Copia furrowed his brow as he thought. 

“Downstairs? Where would they put you down there, unless,” he thought for a moment, “did they give you a room in the old bond servant quarters?” He asked finally. Lydia shrugged. 

“I have no idea. All I know is there's no one down there, and it’s dirty.” She let out a sharp, quick laugh. He nodded.

“That sounds an awful lot like the bond servant quarters.” He sighed. “They aren’t used anymore. So they probably just gave you those as that's free space. Though, I don't envy you. I’ve been down there. It’s…uh, not well decorated.” He smiled as though he were trying to make a joke. Lydia laughed, unfolding her arms from across her chest. 

“That's a very polite way to put it. But I’ve taken to sleeping in my office anyway. It’s easier, cleaner, and your precious Bernard has still been visiting me there.” Her left eyebrow rose as she turned back to the box of books on the floor. Copia sighed. 

“Really? I thought he’d be trapped in my quarters, but apparently not. You know, if you stop feeding him, he’ll stop coming around. He’s very greedy. If he finds out there’s no food, he won’t come around at all.” Copia said everything in one breath, his hands tightly gripping one another behind his back. Lydia shook her head. 

“It doesn't bother me. At all, really. I had dogs at home, and I had to leave them with my dad. I kind of miss having someone to feed.” She shrugged, smiling at him. “But if you don’t want me to feed him anymore, I won’t. Scouts honor. Though, I’ve never been a scout, so I don’t know how much that counts for.” Her cheeks turning just the lightest touch of pink. 

“I don’t know what a scout's honor consists of.” Copia stared blankly at her. “Should I?” Lydia tried to suppress a smile as she closed up the one box she’d been working on and pushed it back along the far wall. She wiped her hands on her pants once more, this time leaving grey dust streaks. 

“Don’t worry about it. It just means that if you don’t want me to feed your pet rat, I won’t. He’ll get the message, I suppose.” She shrugged nonchalantly, tucking her hands into her pockets. An overwhelming feeling washed through him, a feeling he couldn’t put his finger on: a feeling he hadn’t ever run into before. He found himself holding up his hands, palms outward as he tried to correct the situation. 

“No, no, no, it’s fine.” His words came out rushed and urgent. “Really. I just thought he was bothering you.” Copia gave a half smile, as he spoke, the feeling of heat crept into his cheeks. 

“Nah, he’s not bothering me at all. He’s very friendly, and he loves grapes and cheese. But then again, who doesn’t?” She laughed as she pulled another box out from the set of five that were sitting along the back wall and popped it open. Dust went everywhere, and Lydia coughed as she waved it away. 

“Well, I apologize for disturbing you.” Copia nodded to her and turned to leave. But Lydia jumped up and walked towards him. She ran a dust covered hand through her short hair before she spoke. 

“Signe Rask told me you were an Uninitiated once. Is that true?” Her eyes were unblinking as she spoke. She was closer now—closer than she had been before—and Copia felt compelled to tell her everything about himself as though there was this wave pushing him to do so. But instead, he shook his head, as if he were shaking off a fog. He made himself answer her in as concise a way as possible.

“Uh, yes. Yes, I was an Uninitiated once.” His words were soft and quiet but he looked her in the eye as he spoke, despite being caught off guard. She squinted at him, tilting her head slightly.

“Interesting. Signe told me how you climbed the ladder of the church. Went from nothing to, well,” she gestured to him standing before her, “apparently very high up the chain now.” Copia tried to suppress a wide smile, looking down at the floor. He stood firmly in one spot. Inwardly, he found himself remembering how many people had tried to butter him up using these exact words, but somehow this was different. It wasn’t false. It wasn’t sugar coated. It was a genuine query and a genuine response. He looked up at her, his mouth pulled into a tight grin. 

“Yes, I worked to get where I am.” His voice was delicate and smooth. Lydia nodded silently. 

“As one does.” She said, standing in front of him with her arms over her chest once again. She nodded silently as she passed her tongue over her top row of teeth. A long moment of silence passed between them, but it was not uncomfortable: it simply was. The silence of the library was comforting somehow, as though they were the only two people in the world, until Lydia gently broke the silence with a sigh. 

“Well, it’s truly been a pleasure…and a great learning experience, Cardinal Copia. But now I must return to my arduous task.” She gestured to the boxes behind her, and Copia nodded in agreement.

“Yes, of course. I wish you the best of luck.” He bowed and began to leave. 

“See you around, cardinal” she called out to him in a merry tone. Vaguely, he could hear her resume the same humming she had been engaged in when he appeared. As he walked away, the sound of her humming began to die out, and he still couldn’t quite place the tune. He mulled it over in his head as he exited the library, walking back to his quarters in the dark of the night. His footsteps were gentle and quiet as he walked across the stone floors, ascending stairs and descending stairs; going around corners and down tight hallways until he reached his quarters. He unlocked the door, still thinking of the tune Lydia had been humming and wondering, idly, what it was. He inwardly cursed himself for not asking her as he shut the door behind him with a decisive, heavy _clunk_. The sound of scurrying little feet came running from the other room, and Copia bent down to pick up Bernard. 

“Hello,” he greeted the rat warmly, carrying Bernard to his bed where he plopped the creature down onto the mattress. Bernard burrowed under the blankets, obviously where he had come running from, judging from the disheveled state the bed was in. Copia unbuttoned his cassock and began to pull it over his head, throwing it on the floor in a heap. He laid on his back on the bed. Idly, he found himself wondering why she had pulled away from him and simply surveyed him the way she had. _Seems to be an odd thing to do to someone you’ve never met before_ , he thought. Bernard crawled up on his chest, digging slightly at the white t-shirt. Copia sighed, running his hand down Bernard's back. He laid there staring at the ceiling for some time. He was still thinking of the song Lydia had been humming. He knew he’d heard it elsewhere. He closed his eyes, his hand running down the length of Bernard’s back over and over again, Bernard making the softest noises. Finally, Copia stopped his hands movement and opened his eyes. 

“The song was by that American band Cake. It was that ‘short skirt, long jacket’ song. I’ve heard it a million times before.” He chuckled, pleased with himself that he’d been able to remember it. He went back to petting Bernard. “What a strange song to hum while you work. Don’t you think?” he asked the white rat curled up by his side. He didn’t get a response, but that was fine. He was accustomed to such an arrangement. He laid there for a long time, looking up at the ceiling: thinking. He shifted onto his side and looked down at Bernard, who was sound asleep next to him. “She’s interesting. I can see why you’d want to go down there and steal grapes and cheese now, little thief.” Once more, Bernard did not answer, but as always, Copia was unbothered by that. 


	10. An Assistant and a Plan

_ Sweden _

_ October 20th, 2017 _

_ 4:17 PM _

Lydia’s sleeves were rolled up. She was elbow deep in a box of scrolls and loose paperwork. Her blue button-down blouse had dust streaked on the edges of her rolled sleeves. Grey stains that were too stubborn to simply be wiped off. She paid them no heed though and, instead, continued to dig through dusty paperwork that hadn't seen the sun in years—or perhaps ever. She worked in silence; no music and no television. She worked without help, but that was about to change and it would change that very evening. As Lydia hummed while she worked, she heard a knock on the door. 

“It’s open!” She shouted over her shoulder. The door opened with a steady, firm creak, and in stepped a young woman with dark brown hair pulled back in a bun. She was wearing the usual knee-length black gown. Lydia gave a small smile as she stood up, wiping her hands off on each other: a cloud of dust seemingly following her as she walked over to the young woman. “And you must be Göta.” Lydia extended her hand, and Göta took it in her own, shaking it firmly. 

“Yes! And you must be Lydia Wolfe! I am Göta, and it is a pleasure to meet you.” She beamed from ear to ear, shaking the other woman’s extended hand. Lydia did not miss a beat and certainly didn’t let any slack appear before asking, “You were sent by Signe Rask, correct?” She tucked her hands into the back pockets of her pants. Göta nodded her head. 

“I was! I have an idea of what you need me to do. Dr. Rask explained a little about how overwhelming this task was.” She gave a soft laugh, but Lydia did not smile. She simply shrugged. 

“It’s not overwhelming, but it is in desperate need of two sets of hands.” She turned around on her heel and began to walk over to the boxes she had been previously elbow deep in. “I’ve started with the personnel records. I’m working on the older Uninitiated ones. What I’m trying to find out is which ones we need to keep and which ones we need to throw out. Many of these people, as I have been informed by Signe, have left your fine institution. So we need to figure out which ones have left—or died—and throw their files into the furnace.” Göta nodded her head as she listened. Lydia pushed her sleeves back up, sighing as she did so. The other woman walked over to the box and began to flip through the documents, she furrowed her brow. 

“Some of these are ancient!” She flipped through them, looking at the dates, “1892? Wow. Is this whole box just Uninitiated from 1892?” she asked quietly, still flipping through the paperwork and marveling at the numbers. Lydia nodded. 

“So it would seem. I haven't run across anything from any other year in this box. I’m sure there are others from other years, but this seems to be a popular year,” Lydia said as she watched the other woman flipping through the edges of the paperwork. 

“We don't get many Uninitiated anymore, truth be told,” Göta said, almost a whisper. 

“Do you know why?” Lydia asked as she watched Göta closely, her arms folded across her chest. Göta shrugged and pulled away from the box, rubbing her hands together as she did so. 

“I don't know why there's been a decline or what it means. I just know Cardinal Copia mentioned it to me once several years ago. He never gave me a reason, just that it was happening and had been happening for some time.” She sighed as she spoke, giving a noncommittal shrug as she did so. Lydia nodded in silence and paced around the room, heel to toe as she walked. Her arms still crossed in front of her. 

“Why did the Cardinal mention that to you? If I may ask,” Lydia questioned as she leaned against her desk, her eyebrows raised and her mouth a straight line as she waited. Göta gave a warm and honest smile.

“Cardinal Copia was once an Uninitiated, if you didn’t know. So he takes a vested interest in them.” Göta nodded her head firmly as she spoke, as though this were law. Lydia stood perfectly still and said nothing for a moment, simply staring straight through Göta. Finally, Lydia pulled herself away from the edge of her desk and began to meander back to the box. 

“Is the cardinal a well-liked man?” Lydia asked, her voice direct and sharp; there was no warmth to it, only inquiry. As though it were a command and not a question. Göta was unbothered and nodded her head quickly.

“Oh yes! Cardinal Copia is a favorite among many brothers and sisters here. He’s much easier to talk to than some of the other high-ranking clergy members.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “That includes Papa Emeritus the Third.” Göta laughed, her cheeks turning the lightest shade of pink as she pressed her lips together tightly, as though she’d just said the worst thing in the world. Lydia allowed a small, mischievous grin to spread across her face. 

“Have you worked for the cardinal before? You speak as though you know him personally.” Lydia began to walk in a circle around the other woman, waiting for a response. Göta was unbothered and locked her hands behind her back as she spoke.

“I never worked for or with him. But he conducts confessionals sometimes, and I’ve gotten really good advice from him.” She shifted in her spot as she spoke. “He reads a lot as well. So he’s always in the library or around the grounds reading. If you come up to him, he’s always welcoming and polite. I haven't been here very long. Probably only five years or so, but from what I’ve heard the cardinal had a rough time of it here as a kid.” She grimaced slightly as she spoke. As though she didn’t wish to speak about what she’d heard. Lydia nodded, indicating that she was listening as she continued to pace around the room. 

“How do the confessionals work? You’ll have to forgive me,” she said, changing the subject quickly, as she turned to Göta. “I am not religious at all and have never taken part in a confessional of any kind.” She ran an errant hand through her short-cropped red hair. 

“Oh, it’s not like, say, the Catholic church? It’s not like that at all. It’s more like getting advice or just having an anonymous face to talk to. It’s not about...confessing your sins or anything.” Göta wrinkled her nose as she spoke; a smile on her face as she pushed her hands into the pockets of her garment. Lydia pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose as she listened, nodding her head silently. 

“Well, I’m glad that he gives back to the community that took him in all those years ago,” Lydia said. Göta nodded.

“Oh yes, he does give back! A lot of the higher clergy, uh...do not...give...back.” Göta’s voice was small as she spoke, her smile fading as she shrugged once more. “Out of curiosity, have you met the cardinal?” she asked, her hands still in the pockets of her garment. Lydia nodded.

“Yes, twice, actually.” She pointed at Göta, her eyes falling to the window behind the other woman as she spoke. “He seemed agreeable enough.” Lydia pushed her sleeves back up above her elbows and turned back to the box she’d been digging through. 

“You know, you may want to speak to him about these Uninitiated records. In truth, he may be able to tell you more about them than anyone else,” Göta suggested, watching Lydia pull her hands from the dusty box she was working with and holding onto the edges of the ancient cardboard. She was silent for a moment, her vision boring through the paperwork the box contained. She began to drum her fingers on the sides of the box as she thought. She nodded firmly. 

“That is very good information to have. I thank you, Göta. Perhaps I will make an appointment with him. Truth be told, many of these records can be thrown out, but…” Lydia tilted her head to the left before continuing, as though she were cherry picking words, “if he wants to keep them for whatever reason, well then, I don’t want to throw it out without asking.” She pulled her hands from the sides of the box and rubbed them together once more, a small cloud of dust floating away as she did so.  Göta was set to work digging through unlabeled boxes and labeling them. She asked many questions, but Lydia was not bothered by that. She’d rather have someone ask then not ask and then mess it up. She appreciated Göta’s work ethic and her obvious desire to do things right the first time. They worked into the night, watching the sun sink behind the horizon as the room became darker and darker. The fireplace did not provide enough light to really work by, and it was at that point that Lydia told Göta to go home and thanked her for her willingness to help. In turn, Göta thanked Lydia for allowing her the opportunity to be there and bid her a good evening, mentioning that she’d see her again the next day. With that, Göta was gone, and Lydia was left by herself in the dark, box-filled room. The only sound was that of the crackling fireplace and the sound of Lydia's fingers drumming rapidly on the desk that she was leaning on. Her gaze stuck on the boxes and boxes of paperwork for personnel files. 

“Perhaps the cardinal would be the best bet for this job,” she whispered to herself in the ever-growing darkness. She quickly moved to her phone in her pocket and pulled it out, looking at the time: it was 8:34 PM. She tilted her head to the left and the right, thinking about time and whether or not someone like the cardinal would be asleep or not. She pushed her phone back into her pocket and unrolled her sleeves, buttoning the cuffs once more. “He’s not an old man,” she whispered to herself, “he’ll be awake.” She grabbed her sweatshirt off the back of her chair and scrambled into it, pulling it over her head and readjusting her glasses once it was on. And with that, she marched off to the door, pulling it open only to stand there in the threshold for some time. She looked out into the quieted library, whispering to herself under her breath, “How do I find him? I don't even know where his office is.” She let go of the door, and it slammed back into its frame with a heavy  _ thud _ . Standing there for several moments, walking in a tight circle, she contrived a better plan. She smiled to herself as she went off to the mini fridge she had stored in the back. She hummed to herself as she pulled out a selection of cheeses and fruit. 


	11. Summoned Visitors

_Sweden_

_October 20th, 2017_

_8:46 PM_

Copia walked back from the chapel in the dark. The high boughs of the trees moved in the wind, swaying this way and that in the dark sky. There were few people outside, and it was brisk and chilly; The sun had long gone down as he fished his keys from his pocket, nearing the back door to the kitchens. One of the kitchen staff came out abruptly, a cigarette in hand and sweat on his brow; his sleeves rolled from washing dishes after dinner. 

“Good evening, Cardinal.” The man gestured to the door which he now held open. A wide smile on his sweaty face. The Cardinal nodded silently as he walked into the kitchens. He thanked the man and left him to his cigarette. The kitchens were cleaning up from dinner and everyone was bustling this way or that. Copia dodged several people walking with far too many plates in their arms as he made his way out the main door and into the dining area. He kept his head down and quietly exited out into the hallway, not wanting to encounter anyone after conducting confessionals all day. Luckily, there weren’t many people out in the halls, and his walk back to his quarters was uneventful. 

Entering his own quarters was like having a weight lifted from his shoulders, and he sighed. Tossing his notebook onto his coffee table in front of the fireplace, he walked past it and into his bedroom—only to scramble out of his cassock and lay face down onto his bed. He laid there for several moments, his arms splayed out and his face smothered by the duvet. Finally, he turned his head to the side and let out whatever breath he’d been holding, his eyes now closed. Then suddenly, his eyes snapped open, and he sat up. 

“Where's Bernard?” he whispered urgently to himself, getting up and wandering around his quarters. He looked in all the usual places, but there was no Bernard to be found. Standing by the coffee table, which was covered in files and folders and various odds and ends of paperwork, he rolled his eyes and sighed to himself. “Of course. He’s getting free cheese with our guest.” Copia walked over to his cassock, which had been discarded onto the floor in a heap. He scrambled into it and buttoned it up with the ease and efficiency only afforded to someone who had performed that action thousands of times. Before it was totally settled, he was out the door and walking down the hallway. He pulled his gloves on as he walked. He kept shifting his shoulders, trying to get the back of the garment to lay right. _I shouldn’t have put it on like I did; now it's crooked,_ he thought to himself as he picked up his pace, shaking his head slightly at himself. 

Walking down the main stairs and into the entryway, he passed no one. The sound of his shoes hitting the marble floors echoed off the empty stone halls. Walking into the library, the echoing became louder and more distinct. Copia didn’t pay it any heed though and continued walking past shelf after shelf of dusty tomes. It didn’t take him long before he reached a door between the shelves—the one that didn't quite fit there. Inwardly, he mused about the way the shelves had been pushed apart to make the door easier to get to, remembering a time when he was younger and it was a tight fit—even for a kid. Now, the door was easily accessible, after all these years. He stood in front of the heavy wooden thing, realizing the last time he looked at it this closely he’d been much shorter and much younger. He knocked on it firmly, his knuckles rapping against the wood. No response. He sighed, his eyes rolling in his head as he knocked once more; this time with more intensity. He stretched his gloved hands as he stood and waited, opening a closing his hand into a fist. From the other side of the door, he heard the sound of someone approaching: solid footsteps on stone floors that quickly approached the door before it swung open. 

“Hello again,” Lydia said in a cheery voice. Copia bowed his head awkwardly, weaving his gloved fingers together. 

“I apologize for the intrusion, but I’m looking for-” Lydia waved her hands as she cut him off, turning around and walking back into the office, inviting him along with a simple wave of her hand. Behind him, the door shut of its own accord with a gentle _click_. 

“I know what you’re looking for, Cardinal Copia.” She laughed as she went over to her desk and hopped up onto it; her legs dangled down freely. “Your friend Bernard is here.” She gestured with a nod of her head towards the large white rat who sat in front of a plate of cheese and fruit, happily munching away. Copia sighed, a genuine smile spread across his face. 

“Thank you. I’m sorry he’s bothered you again.” He went over to the rat and ran a single gloved hand down his back, but the rat simply squeaked and continued on with his snack. “I take it you were eating and he joined you?” Copia asked as he stood up and turned to her. She was still seated on the desk, her arms now folded across her chest. She shrugged as she looked down, a mischievous grin on her face. 

“I actually...left a plate of food out for him. Knowing he’d come down here for it.” She turned her head and looked at Copia; she was obviously attempting not to smile, but her eyes betrayed her. Copia squinted. His hands were locked behind his back, now tightly gripping one another. He stared at her with narrowed, unblinking eyes. 

“Why?” he asked, his voice a harsh whisper. Lydia hopped down off the desk. Her eyes locked on his as she walked towards him, her hands tucked into the pouch of her sweatshirt. 

“I needed to speak with you, and I…” her voice trailed off for a moment, “I didn’t know how to reach you or contact you. So, I figured this might work, judging from previous Bernard encounters.” She stood in front of him with a plain facial expression—as though this were the normal thing to do. Copia felt his mouth go from slack to a smile of disbelief. He tilted his head slightly to the left as he spoke. 

“Aside from the fact that...that is a very unconventional way to call someone…” he let out a slight chuckle, still unsure of how to respond, “I am interested in knowing why you...uh...called?” He raised his eyebrows as he spoke, his hands now hanging loosely at his sides as he waited. Inwardly, he found himself cursing Bernard for this. His mind running in loops about what she could possibly want from _him_. Everyone always wanted _something_ , after all. He was tense; waiting. 

“I need your help,” she said plainly, pulling her hands from her sweatshirt pouch and holding them in the air, palms up—as though she was surrendering. “There are some documents I have to sort through. I had been told you’re an expert in the field…of sorts.” Copia raised an eyebrow but said nothing as Lydia plowed ahead. “It’s this box over here…” she gestured and began to walk over to it, “these are all Uninitiated files. Personal information is everywhere. All over every single piece of paperwork. I need to know what to keep and what to throw out.” She tapped the side of the box with her index finger as she spoke. Copia did not ask for permission but, instead, simply walked over to it and reached down to pull out a handful of papers. He rifled through them in silence. Lydia stood by and watched, her arms folded across her chest. As she watched him she found herself noticing the way he read everything he touched. He didn't put anything down without reading the whole thing. It was taking forever, but she had to admit she was impressed. Most people would simply glance at something, but not this man. No, this man wanted to read every single word on the page before he made a decision. 

“Many of these are very old,” he said finally, his voice was a low whisper. “I think a lot of these—at least, what I’ve seen in this box—can be stored in the archive. Here at the top it says the year for these, and well, 1892 was a long time ago.” He chuckled at his own commentary, his eyes never leaving the papers he was holding. He was in his own world now whatever (or wherever) that may be. Lydia said nothing and instead continued to stand and wait. The sounds of Bernard still happily munching away on his plate of offerings could be heard distantly in the background. Finally, Copia put the paperwork down back into the box it came from. A soft cloud of dust arose as he laid it all down very carefully. He rubbed his hands together, the dust coming off of his gloves much easier than it did with Lydia’s hands. 

“Well, I can help you with this.” He gripped the edge of the box momentarily. “These older documents are something I’d like to keep in the archive. I’ve been...kind of—well, I guess, ‘tracking’ would be the best word for it—the progression and decline of the Uninitiated and their dwindling numbers through the years.” He pulled his hands away from the box and clasped them once more behind his back. Lydia nodded as she ran her tongue over her teeth in thought. 

“You say, ‘decline’, what's going on to make those numbers go down? Or do you not know?” Her voice was firm, unyielding, almost cold, and yet Copia couldn't pull his gaze away from hers. Away from that piercing vision she had. _It's like she sees through me,_ he thought idly to himself for the briefest of moments. He shook himself, not visibly, but enough to answer her. 

“There's been a drastic drop in numbers of Uninitiated over the past decade. I don't know why, exactly.” He shrugged as he spoke. “I suppose, maybe, the world is becoming a better place. People don’t feel the need to drop their children off on the doorstep of a church. There's no compelling reason to do such a thing anymore. Maybe humanity is getting better.” He smiled once more and gave a sarcastic huff of a laugh, his eyes rolling slightly. Lydia smiled, and it was a genuinely warm thing. 

“I can see that. I can also see how lowering birth rates, and also birth control, are probably going a long way to stop people from having children they may not be ready for.” She tilted her head slightly, her eyebrows raised. Copia nodded in agreement. 

“You’re...probably more than right.” He laughed outright, shifting in his spot as he spoke. He glanced around the office, taking in what he could and finding himself remembering it very differently all those years ago. He was quiet for perhaps far too long when Lydia spoke. 

“Are you alright?” She asked quietly, her brow now furrowed as she watched him looking about the office and seemingly losing track of himself as he did so. He gave a nervous laugh, clasping his hands together behind his back, not knowing what else to do with them in that moment. 

“Yes, I’m fine. I just...I grew up here, so this office was very different when I was younger. Now it's just,” he gestured vaguely with his right hand at the piles and piles of boxes stacked up against the wall, “it's just a storage facility now it would seem.” He tilted his head slightly as he spoke. Lydia still had her arms crossed over her chest; she sighed. 

“May I ask a seemingly rude question?” Her voice was a hushed and gentle murmur. Copia nodded stiffly; waiting. “Do you remember anything outside of this church? Do you remember your...family or anything? Or is this all you’ve ever known? If that's too personal, don’t feel like you need to answer it, I was just-” Copia cut her off by holding his hands up, a tight smile on his face. 

“That's not a rude question.” A small smile appeared on his face. “But to answer you, I don’t remember anything other than this church. They were the ones who took me in, and that's all I’ve ever known.” He shrugged his shoulder noncommittally. He stared directly at her as he finished speaking. His eyes did not wander; though, neither did hers. Instead she nodded her head firmly as a silence began to descend on them. Though, it was not uncomfortable in the slightest. 

“Well, if you’re willing to help me organize some of this, that’d be great! I would very much appreciate it.” She smiled once more at him. He nodded to her as he spoke.

“Yes, I am willing to help you with this.” His voice was low. “Though, you did ask me a question, and now I have a question for _you_.” Lydia raised her eyebrows and inclined her head. She held up her hand, indicating for him to continue. He did not look away from her and instead took two steps forward as he spoke.

“Is that your university?” He pointed to the sweatshirt she was wearing with a gloved hand. “What did you go there for?” He squinted slightly, his eyes becoming dark, narrow slits. He retracted his hand as soon as the words were out of his mouth, but he did not step back. Lydia did not seem to mind though and, instead, pulled at the garment she had on, looking down at the dark blue lettering on grey. 

“I went here for law school. They gave me the best offer, so away I went!” She chuckled. Copia nodded firmly. 

“Law school is a very big commitment,” he said quietly, raising his eyebrows as she spoke. 

“It was. It was a challenge to get in, and it was a tremendous amount of work and effort to graduate.” She laughed. “But I did it, and it was completely worth it.” She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, a pleased smirk on her face. 

“So...I take it you’re a lawyer? What in the world job offer did the church give you to bring you here?” Copia asked, his hands once more tightly clasped together behind his back. Lydia chuckled. 

“I will have to stop you there, Cardinal Copia. I believe it is technically my turn to ask a question.” She placed her hand flat on her chest as she spoke, looking at him from over top the rim of her glasses. 

“Oh, I see! A _game_ ,” he said with a laugh in his voice. Lydia tried to suppress the smile on her face, but that was fruitless. She uncrossed her arms and rubbed her hands together.

“Perhaps! Now,” she quickly walked past Copia, and he trailed along behind her as she approached several boxes stacked by the far wall, “these are all Uninitiated records that were created very recently—well, within the last maybe…three years?” She opened the lid on one of the boxes and pulled out a handful of paperwork. “These are all so recent that, legally, I have to file them as current. But the older ones, like those ones from 1892? We can archive those.” She pointed to the other boxes that now sat alone by her desk. Copia nodded silently as he looked over her shoulder into the box. 

“If these are going to be filed as current, then I should probably go through them. Do you want me to take it with me?” He asked as he reached into the box and began to file through the paperwork, watching as the names went flying by: last names and then first names, everything in alphabetical order. Lydia bit her bottom lip as she thought. Her fingers tapping the edge of the box. 

“Yes, actually. If you want to start going through them, then that would be a great help.” She turned to the box lid and picked it up, placing it back on tightly. Copia nodded at her and began to pull the box towards him. Abruptly, Lydia grabbed the edge of the box. He looked up and made direct, and unexpected, eye contact with her. The whites of her eyes were very clear, and for some reason, it made Copia nervous. Oddly, he felt his mouth twitch. “I want to make sure I keep a finger on the pulse of this project. So, if you can come down here—or I can come to your office to work on it with you at some point—that would be ideal.” She was still staring at him, unblinking. Copia raised his eyebrows as he nodded. 

“Absolutely; I have an office on the fourth floor.” He let go of the box and began to pat himself down, only to mutter to himself and reach for a stray piece of blank paper. He pointed to the pen sitting idly on the top of another box behind Lydia. She turned around and grabbed it, handing it to him swiftly. “Here’s my phone number. Text me or call me,” he handed her the paper, “that way you don’t have to lay out bait for my rat in order to draw me down here.” He smirked as he spoke, and Lydia tried to suppress her smile as Copia continued. “We can figure out a time for you to come up and work on it.” She looked at the digits on the paper and nodded. 

“Perfect!” She let go of the box, and Copia pulled it the rest of the way towards him. Holding onto it with both hands. He turned his head and shouted over his shoulder.

“Come on, Bernard.” He made a soft sound with his mouth, and a gentle squeaking sound could be heard as the large white rodent came bounding towards him. Lydia shook her head and laughed, her face breaking into a smile as she bent down to pet Bernard—who gladly welcomed the attention.

“He’s like a dog!” she exclaimed, running her fingers over his head and down his back. Copia smiled as he picked the box up.

“He is; he chases balled up paper and brings it back to me. You’d think, from the way he acts, he never gets attention, but I assure you he does.” Copia rolled his eyes as he spoke. Lydia nodded her head and stood up, putting her hands back into the pouch of her sweatshirt. 

“I had dogs at home, and they were the same way. They acted like we never pet them or fed them, but they were definitely well fed and had all the attention in the world.” She laughed. 

“Where are they now, if I may ask? You obviously didn’t bring them with you,” Copia noted, shifting slightly; the box in his hands becoming uncomfortable. Lydia smirked at him.

“I see you’re trying to ask another question, Cardinal Copia. Are you trying to cheat?” A coy smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and her left eyebrow went up as she spoke. He felt a hot flush run up his neck and into his face. He laughed awkwardly as he shifted the box once more.

“Only a little,” he replied gently, his voice low. The heat which had crept up in his cheeks began to disappear now. Lydia pulled her phone out of her pocket and scrolled through her photos, turning her phone around to show two large dogs that appeared to be some type of mastiff—though Copia didn't know which type.

“These are my dogs. This one is Jam and this one is Kevin.” Copia made a face and Lydia laughed as she continued. “But when I accepted this job, my dad took them, so I didn’t have to give them to a stranger. He’s a cat person, but he seems to have been converted.” She turned her phone back to herself and looked at the picture. A small, sad smile appeared on her face for a fleeting moment. She tucked the phone (and her hands) back into the pouch of her sweatshirt. 

“I’m sure you miss them; I know I would miss Bernard,” Copia said as he glanced down at the white rat—who was now laying belly down flat on the floor like a big white puddle. He stuck his foot out and tapped Bernard gently on the side with his shoe. “Speaking of, let's go, my little round one.” Bernard got up, though it was begrudgingly. 

“I appreciate your help, Cardinal,” Lydia said as he began to walk towards the door, rat in tow. “I’ll text you later this week, and we can arrange a time to look at everything. I may need directions to your office though.” Her voice was hushed for the first time since he’d met her. She bit her bottom lip slightly, as though she were unsure of something; though, what it could be he didn’t know. Copia’s vision was drawn to her biting her lip but he looked away quickly, simply shaking his head and laughing.

“That's fine. I can give you directions. It’s not that hard to find, if I’m being honest. Just a lot of stairs.” He went to reach for the door, but Lydia beat him to it. She pulled on the handle and held the door open for him, gesturing for him to go through. He nodded his head to her in thanks. 

“Well, still, I thank you. And I will be in touch. Promise!” she said brightly. Copia walked through the door, Bernard walked past him and out into the library. 

“You’re very welcome, and I’m glad I could be of assistance. I look forward to working with you.” Copia faced her and gave her a half bow. She waved to him as he turned on his heel and walked down between the two bookshelves, carrying the box of paperwork and trailing behind Bernard. He heard the door to her office shut behind him. He walked in silence with Bernard, the only sound was the gentle scratching of Bernard's claws on the stone stairs and the marble floors. The sound of the box rustling against his cassock as they walked up the stairs and down hallways back to Copia’s quarters. 

Upon reaching their destination, he placed the box on the floor and fished his keys out of his pocket. He unlocked the door and let Bernard in first, the rat trotting away to his bed by the fireplace in the living area. Copia picked the box back up and walked into his quarters, shutting the door behind him with his foot. He placed the box on his chair by the fireplace as Bernard busily nuzzled his way into the blankets on his miniature bed. Copia sighed, walking back to his room and unbuttoning his cassock once more. He pulled it over his head and threw it on the floor. He pulled his shoes off and left them wherever they landed. He walked into the bathroom and flicked the light on, standing in front of the sink, he turned the tap on and ran the water, waiting until it was hot. He looked up at his own reflection in the mirror. Noticing the way his hair was messed up now; he looked tired, though he didn’t feel tired—not as he had earlier that day. He washed his hands free of dust and dried them on his pants, turning the tap and the lights off as he walked back out to the living area. He stood over the box and stared at it. 

“I don't even know what she wants me to do with these.” He ran a hand through his dark hair, scratching at his scalp as he did so. “I don’t really know why I agreed to do this.” He reached down into his pocket for his phone, pulling it out he saw the blue light blinking in the top left corner of the device. He turned it on and saw several notifications: many emails, two missed phone calls, several junk notifications, and one text message. He cleared them all, ignoring the emails and the phone calls. He pulled up the text message, which simply read: _Your rat made a mess in my office_ and was accompanied by a photo of a plate covered in cheese crumbs and pieces of discarded fruit. Copia laughed outright at that and began to reply. Bernard, nestled in his own little bed, watched from a distance. 


	12. Suspicions and Symptoms

_ Sweden _

_ October 23rd, 2017 _

_ 9:19 AM _

The sound of the morning foot traffic was dulled. Outside, the wind blew in the tree tops and scattered the fallen leaves on the ground. They danced in little whirlwinds of orange and red and yellow and brown. The groundskeepers furiously tried to keep them off the lawn but much to no avail. Far in the back library, down in the archival office, Signe Rask found herself standing next to Lydia as the younger woman dug through a box. She had her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and she was wearing the signature cloth gloves that were expected of someone who worked with ancient manuscripts and tomes. 

“That box should all be books and maybe some scrolls,” Signe said as she peered over Lydia’s shoulder. Lydia nodded briskly. 

“Yes, it would appear so. This box is all things I can go through later. I’m really more interested in getting some of these books out of here and onto the library floor. Books are to be shared, after all.” Lydia flashed a rare smile, and Signe laughed.

“I have to say, I do agree.” Signe tucked her hands into her pockets as she walked around the desk where Lydia was working. She sighed, finding herself remembering when this was her domain and all these cherished tomes were hers to be digging through. The sounds of Lydia digging through the boxes behind her began to fade away as Signe wandered around the room she’d once called her own office. Her hands were tucked neatly in her pockets, and her dark blue cardigan was buttoned all the way to the top; only her yellow, button-down oxford showing underneath. She walked past row after row of boxes and piles of books, the sounds of Lydia shuffling around and cursing to herself slowly fading as Signe walked further and further away. She found herself circling Lydia's desk when she noticed a curious object: a book. But not just any book, it was a book she knew. She squinted at it, pulling her glasses up and resting them on her nose to get a better look at it. It was ancient. It’s leather bound casing had seen far better days, once upon a time many years ago, far beyond the stretch of time covered by any one man's memory. 

Signe turned around and looked for Lydia. She saw the younger woman still digging around and talking to herself as she worked; she had seemingly forgotten about her guest, and for that, Signe was thankful. She quickly picked the tome up and began to leaf through it when she noticed something odd: along the top of the tome were small, colorful tabs. A myriad of rainbow colors coming out the top of it like weeds in an old sidewalk. She looked closer and noticed they were bookmarks of some kind: post-it notes, but miniaturized. Signe turned back once more and looked over her shoulder, only to see Lydia was squatting down on the floor and looking through old parchment pieces she had scattered in front of her. Signe’s mouth became a tight line as she turned her attention back to the ancient book. Her fingers quickly found the first bookmarks, and she pulled it open as gently and quickly as she could. Scanning the pages, she found what she was looking for. She flipped to the next bookmark and scanned that page as well. She licked her fingers as she turned page after page after page, only to feel this overwhelming sense of concern and dread washing over her. She finally shut the book and silently laid it back down where it sat before. Signe did not bid Lydia goodbye and, instead, simply turned on her heel and walked out of her old office. 

She pulled the door open and walked onto the open library floor. She dodged person after person, some of them smiling politely and waving, but Signe did not notice: she was on a mission. She continued to walk through the library, then the main lobby, and up the first main flight of grand, sweeping marble stairs. She went up and up and up—to the highest floor where few dared to tread. On this floor, there was only one room, and it was at the end of the hallway. Here there were no portraits and no decorations of any kind adorning the walls in any way, simply spider webs and silence. She reached the end of the hallway and pushed open an old wooden door; it did not creak though. It opened for her silently, and she slid inside. 

The room was warm and welcoming and had two chairs by a crackling fireplace—one of which was occupied: a long black tail draped over the side of the arm rest. It flitted this way and that gently. Signe closed the door behind her, and it shut with the gentlest of  _ clicks _ . She walked over to the unoccupied chair and sat down in it, sighing as she did so, taking several deep breaths. 

“What's wrong?” he asked, his tone stern as he turned to her. His masked face showed no emotion, but his voice told her everything she needed to know: he was concerned. She held her hand up, shaking her head, still unable to speak. She kept taking deep breaths and coughing. As quick as lightning, he crouched down in front of her, his hands on her knees, his tail wrapping itself around her ankle. She smiled, laughing and then coughing once more. Her hand on her chest as she tried to speak. 

“I’m alright,” she finally managed. His grip on her knees was tight. She looked up at him and cradled his masked face with her hand for a moment. 

“Do you need the device? The inhaler?” he asked quickly. She shook her head. 

“No, I’m alright, really, Alpha. I went up the stairs too quickly, and it caused some of those attacks.” She took several more deep breaths. “But I’m okay. Really, I am.” He didn’t move from in front of her, and instead, she felt his tail gently squeezing her ankle and calf as she noticed that lightheaded feeling fading and her breathing returning to normal. He squatted on the floor, curled up at her feet almost. 

“Don’t worry, I’m alright,” she said quietly, still winded. 

“No, you’re not alright, and I will always worry.” His voice was a defiant whisper. Behind him, the fireplace burned silently, its unnatural flames now something she had become accustomed to over the last thirty years. 

“Well, as much as I appreciate it, it doesn't matter. I have to speak to you about something more important.” She sat back in her chair, and Alpha rose quickly to his full height, sitting next to her in his own chair. He smiled behind his mask. His eyes betrayed him. 

“What could possibly be more important to me than you and your comfort?” They stared at one another for a long moment before Signe chuckled. Though, as she spoke, her smile faded.

“I have made a discovery that I am mildly concerned about,” she said quietly, her hands tightly folded together in her lap. Alpha watched her. He sat perfectly still. His eyes narrowed as she spoke. “My new replacement is...tenacious. She’s intelligent, and she’s like a whip, if I’m being honest.” Signe huffed out a laugh, a knowing, reminiscent smile on her face. “But...I’m worried that...she may have started getting into things that the church...that we....may not want her in.” Signe wrung her hands together for a moment before quickly pushing a piece of errant grey hair behind her ear. The room fell into a deep silence. The only sound was that of the fireplace and the wind against the glass in the window panes. Alpha sighed through his mask, sitting perfectly still as he did so. He glanced at the fireplace in front of him. His eyes seemingly lost in the heatless flames. 

“And whatever is it that has made you concerned?” Alpha asked gently, his voice a low familiar rumble. His fingers tightly digging into the armrest of his chair. Signe drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. She adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose. 

“I found...a book on Lydia’s desk. She had, obviously, been reading it.” She swallowed audibly before continuing. “It was about the physical history of the church: architecture, how it was built, why it was built. I’ve seen the book before, many years ago. It is not something an outsider should be reading, Alpha.” Signe fell silent and leaned back into the embrace of her chair. She kept taking deep breaths as though it were still difficult to breathe. She laid her hand on her chest, feeling that same deep rattling sound that had persisted for many months. She looked off to her right, out the window that overlooked the gardens. 

“How far into the book was she, do you know?” Alpha questioned, his voice taught. 

“Very far in. She must have read through the whole thing at least once. It was dotted with bookmarkers everywhere—little tabular post-it notes on every other page it seemed.” She laughed, only to have it end up in a coughing fit. Alpha got up, getting her some water. But Signe waved him off, simply grabbing the tissue from her pocket and holding it to her mouth. Alpha returned and handed her the glass of water. She took it, only sipping from it as the same coughing fit racked her for several more minutes. Finally, she sat up right and sighed, taking another sip of water. Alpha sat at her feet, his chin on her knee and his tail wrapping itself around her ankle. 

“Are you alright?” he whispered once more, his voice sounding small and far away. Signe smiled, dabbing at her mouth with her tissue clenched tightly in her hand. She ran a hand down the side of his mask, cupping his chin in her hand. 

“I know you’re scared,” she said quietly, her voice tender. 

“I don’t want to lose you.” His words were rigid. 

“I know. I don’t want to be lost.” She gave him a weak grin. “But it’s not as bad as it looks; don’t worry.” They both fell into a comfortable silence. The room wasn’t tense; it was comfortable and warm, despite the situation, Alpha with his head on her knee and Signe running her hand over his mask for several long moments before either of them said anything. Alpha ran his hands up and down Signe’s calf as he spoke. 

“Do you think she's a danger to the church?” he whispered 

“Yes and no,” Signe replied; she sounded tired. “Do I think she is the one that your brother warned you about all those years ago? Yes; yes, I do, Alpha. Do I think she’s a danger? To some, yes. She absolutely is.” Signe’s voice was growing weaker, and her eyes were heavy. Her breathing was louder now after her coughing fit. Alpha sighed as he stood up, his tail gently pulling away from Signe’s leg as he walked to the door.

“Are you really alright? Was it just another coughing spell?” he asked, his hand on the door knob. He looked at her over his shoulder. His eyes burned into her—the same way they always had—with that same intensity. 

“The whole world always seems to stand still when you look at me like that,” she said quietly, her eyes heavily lidded as she leaned her head on the wing of the chair she was seated in. Behind his mask, Alpha’s features softened for the briefest of moments. Signe continued, clearing her throat as she did so: “But yes, I am alright. Go and do your duties. You may want to speak with Lydia at some point. See if you feel she's...a threat. Though, I don't think she is. I think your brother was right, and I think this is the person he warned you about. You know what he said, Alpha. You know what you have to do.” Her words were soft. Alpha nodded, his grip on the door handle was tight. He took one last look at her, nodding briskly, then pulled the door open and walked quickly into the hallway. 

The door shut behind him with a soft click, and Signe was left alone in her chair. She took several deep breaths as she tried to calm her quickly beating heart. She took a sip of her water, then placed the cup back down on the coaster which sat on the cherry wood table between the two chairs. She closed her eyes for a moment, only to open them and look down into the palm of her hand. Her eyes began to well up, and she audibly swallowed, the air getting caught in her throat. She felt her face become hot, wet tears sliding down her cheeks. She tried to push them away with the palm of her hand, but they didn’t stop, the tissue in her hand speckled with dark red blood. 


	13. Somewhere In October

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the formatting on this is wonky, let me know. 
> 
> Thank you!

_Sweden_

_October 26th, 2017_

_5:49 PM_

“I guess what I’m trying to say is…”

The person speaking on the other side of the confessional booth was talking almost to themselves at this point, and Copia simply doodled in his notepad, waiting for that inevitable vibration from his phone—which was placed carefully in a small, secretive pocket of his cassock. He was doodling little swirls on the notepad, not really listening; his mind elsewhere. He’d been texting Lydia off and on since the other night when he’d gone down to fetch Bernard. Subsequently, he ended up talking to her far longer than he thought he would. A pleased smile spread across his face as he thought back to that first text message with the picture of the plate as proof of Bernard's horrible table manners. His pen scraped against the paper as he started to draw little spirals in the corner, soon it grew into what resembled a strange, otherworldly thorn bush. All the while, the voice of the person on the other side of the confessional continued on and on, though Copia wasn’t really listening at all. He found himself responding to the other person as he drew, his advice was banal and plain and, perhaps, could have been misconstrued as useless by some. But the person seemed to be happy with whatever it was Copia had said—not that he really gave it any thought. He was too busy thinking about the time and if it was six o’clock yet and whether he could leave and check his phone. Anxiously, he jiggled his knee as he waited for the count down. Finally, a harsh wrapping on the door sounded his release. 

“Ah, well, it seems we’ve run out of time,” Copia said quickly as he packed up his notebook and began to leave the confessional. He wished the other person a good evening and was gone before they had a chance to reply. He walked out of the backdoor of the chapel and up the hill to the door of the kitchens, which always stood open during clean up. And once again, someone was there taking a smoke break like clockwork. They let him in, patting him on the shoulder as he passed. He gave them a stiff smile and hurried on. The kitchens exited by the back staircase, which was a twisting old stone thing with no railing. In truth, it didn’t need one. One could simply lean against the stone walls for stability and continue walking upwards; the stone was so smooth from years and years of people doing this that now it was like slipping down a slide if you hit it just right—which is exactly what Copia did. He walked up and up the spiral, his shoulder leaning against the stone. It transported him back to a time when he was younger and had discovered this same stairwell; the way he’d gone running down the stairs far too quickly, guided along by that same slippery stone. 

Once he reached the top of the stairs, he stopped. He turned around and glanced at the stairway, the candles flickering in their sconces and casting shadows around the stone cylinder. He found himself thinking back to a time when he was younger, much younger. He’d been running around in the white robes of the Uninitiated. He’d gone sliding down that stairway, running a million miles an hour it felt like, as he slid down the side of the smooth stone—only to land at the bottom of the stairs, face first as he went careening across the rough stone floor and onto the very feet of Papa Emeritus the Second himself. Copia sighed, thinking back on it; a small smile on his face now, but the feeling of dread still encompassed him as he remembered looking up at those mismatched eyes and that hard, cold gaze. 

As Copia began to walk along the corridor, he found himself revisiting the memory: the way that Papa had simply flashed a quick grin, chuckling to himself as he whispered, _“I, too, once did just what you did. We’ll let it slide, I think, just this once, yes?”_ Copia hadn’t known what to do except gulp and nod, feeling his cheeks turning blood red with embarrassment. He’d watched Papa Emeritus the Second walk off, his shoes echoing as he disappeared down the hall. And now, as Copia neared the door to his quarters, fishing his keys out of his pocket, he fit the key into the lock: it snapped open with a satisfying _click._ As he shut the door behind him, he thought back to that day and realized he’d never seen Papa Emeritus the Second smile at anyone. Copia had always thought fondly about that private exchange they’d had, and he never did understand the reputation that Papa Emeritus the Second had earned as a nasty, bitter man. He surely had never been nasty or bitter to Copia, and Copia was always glad of that. 

He placed his keys on the table by his chair in front of the fireplace. Naturally, Bernard was curled up in the chair. Copia offered a simple “hello” to the animal and went back to his bedroom, where he shed his cassock and pulled his shirt tail out of his pants. Undoing his belt buckle, he let it fall to the floor with a _clang_ against the wood. He stretched, his back popping in places as he did so. He pulled his socks off and threw them haphazardly on the floor and walked into the bathroom, turning on the hot water and letting it pour out while he peed. The same familiar flush of that ancient toilet echoed through the small bathroom, and Copia returned to the hot water, which he splashed on his face, only to turn the tap off and wander out into his room. 

He stared at his cassock, which lay on the floor in a puddle. Reaching down, he pulled out his cellphone. He ran his left hand through his hair as he scrolled. He ignored emails and deleted notifications left and right. Finally getting to what he wanted: his text messages. He answered some of them with generic auto-responses, but the one that was the most important was the one he was waiting on answering. It was from Lydia, and it simply said, _what's the deal with the Uninitiated who have no last names?_ He had gotten it just before the last confessional spot had been taken up, and he had been eager to reply but hadn’t had the time. Instead, he’d sat in that booth and doodled and waited and watched the clock tick by gruelingly. Now, he had all the time in the world, and he flopped himself down on his bed, grabbing the remote for the television and turning it on. The endless chattering sound droned through the room as he leaned back into a plethora of pillows, his vision fixed on the series of texts they’d shared throughout the week. It had been a few texts here and there, most of them about work and questions about how things operated at the church. But now, he had all night stretched out in front of him. He laid in his bed in his underwear and unbuttoned shirt, not watching the television as it blared in front of him: it was nothing more than noise. He stared at the text, pulling at his upper lip with his thumb and his forefinger. He pulled his hand away to text back, as he did he pressed his lips together, his brow furrowed as he replied. 

_[Copia]: Sorry i was working all day and couldn’t reply. The Uninitiated who have no names are the ones who were abandoned here or given to the church as infants. Most of the rest keep whatever their last names were prior to coming here, for example, if their parents die or something they’d keep their last name in their file._

His thumb hovered over the send button and then with a decided push, he tapped it. He lowered the cellphone to his chest and covered it with his hands. His vision was lost in the colors of the screen in front of him. His phone lay still on his chest for a long moment. Until suddenly a deep buzzing against his chest caused him to grab for the device. He flicked on the screen, and there it was: a reply. He bit his bottom lip as he read. 

_[Lydia]: Oh! Okay! Thank you for that, I had a feeling it was something like that but I wasn’t sure and I wanted to make sure I was right. lol. May I ask what you do all day? If you don't want to answer that's fine, I was just curious what your duties were._

Copia stared at the screen of his phone. He drew in a deep breath, his fingers flying over his phone screen, the television in the background continued to drone. 

_[Copia]: Ah, today I did some paperwork and then I worked in the confessional all day. It’s alright._

He put his phone back down on his chest once more and waited. He found himself checking the device, looking for the signature blinking blue light in the left-hand corner. He felt antsy. As though he were waiting for something but he didn’t know what. The phone gave the same familiar buzz, and he picked it up. 

_[Lydia]: I’ve heard of the confessional. My assistant told me it's more a place to get advice and maybe a kind word than any kind of confession. It sounds very boring tho, listening to other people's problems all day_

Copia smiled. He had to admit, sometimes it was boring. But it was entertaining too. He certainly did find amusement in it and he enjoyed the information he had received over the years. It had all come in handy and surely, the rest of it would, too, one day. He ran an errant hand through his hair, letting out a sigh that he didn't realize he’d been holding in. 

_[Copia]: It's not so bad. I get to help people out of their situations, and sometimes it's nice to just listen. I take a notebook with me though. I doodle while people talk, and that's relaxing. Are you still up to your elbows in records and dust?_

He sent the text, his fingers gripping into his hair once more as he waited. Distantly, he heard Bernard in the other room, skittering along on the wood floors and making his way into Copia’s room. He watched the fat, white rat clamber up onto the bed. Bernard didn't need any help, nor did he request it. Instead, he pulled himself up and plopped down between Copia’s shins. His round, white-furred body flopped out comfortably as a small dog would. Bernard laid his head on Copia’s knee just as his phone buzzed with a reply.

_[Lydia]: That would drive me crazy! Sitting and listening to people jabber all day endlessly. I would be so irritated, lol. I didn't know you drew! Do you do it more than just doodles or just something to pass the time? And yes! I am up to my shoulders in records and dust and bullshit, how ever did you guess? :)_

Copia chuckled to himself as he replied. 

_[Copia]: It doesn't drive me crazy, needless to say. I like sitting, and I like listening, so people can jabber all day long but I can always tune them out, ha. I usually just doodle for the fun of it. I’m not an artist by any stretch of the imagination. As for your own activities, all I have to do is look around that office and know you’re simply sodden with dust. Have you made any headway?_

He laid his phone back down on his chest again—this time, his teeth gripping onto his bottom lip. He could feel the pinpricks of interest sparking at the corners of his mind. Idly, he began to wonder if she was just searching for answers to things or if she was genuinely interested in his doodles and his day. He furrowed his brow, staring at the television in front of him for a moment, finding himself wondering if there was another motive there. Just as he began to wonder, his phone buzzed again against his chest. 

_[Lydia]: I can't stand to listen to people jabbering endlessly like that. I can only handle so many friends, let alone dealing with strangers wanting emotional handouts. You obviously have more patience than me. And I am covered in dust all day long tbh. It’s awful washing my hands this many times a day. My skin is like paper now lol. I’ve made some headway but these Uninitiated records are a legal pain in the ass. I’d love to see your doodles sometime!_

Copia looked up from his phone and stared directly at the ceiling. He didn't blink. He simply stared for a long moment. He felt Bernard shifting down between his knees. He finally broke his gaze with the ceiling and looked back at his phone and began to text back.

_[Copia]: I haven't shown my doodles to anyone, but maybe someday :-) I’m not a great artist, so it's just scribbles, really. I do have a lot of patience, I’ve been told it's my greatest skill, so I guess that's good, ha. You should get some lotion and keep it in the office. When I worked in clerical paperwork areas, I washed my hands all day too. It was really shitty._

He laid the phone down and ran both hands through his hair this time. His lips pressing together tightly as he waited. He found himself tenser than he was earlier, but it wasn’t an anxious, hard tension. It was a tension of anticipation and a deep throbbing thrill that was running through him for the first time in years. He began to shift in his spot, which agitated Bernard, who in turn got up and plopped down next to Copia instead of between the man's knees. Copia didn't pay Bernard any heed as he readjusted in his spot, trying to get more comfortable. He laid on his back and pushed back further into the mess of pillows on his bed as he waited for her to reply. This time he barely put his phone down and, instead, kept picking it up and looking at it, checking for messages every so often. 

_[Lydia]: Having patience is a great trait. I honestly wish I had more of it. But I don't :( I should get lotion though, that's a good idea. I didn’t think about it at all. Thanks for that lol. When did you work in clerical? I imagine it's been some time since you did that, what with being a cardinal and all :P_

Copia felt the heat of a blush creep into his cheeks. He squirmed in his spot a little, his right hand scrolling on the phone and his left toying with the elastic band of his underwear, unconsciously. He felt a deep, pressing urge to reply to her as quickly as possible, and he had to admit: he hadn't felt that way in a long time. That urgency, that pull, that heated spark when talking to another person; it had been years since he’d felt that. 

_[Copia]: I was all the time washing my hands. It was a terrible job, if i’m being honest. I was very young when I started that, probably about 14 or 15? I was conscripted by Dr. Rask actually, ha. That was kind of the beginning of...well, everything for me I guess._

He laid his phone down, this time a sigh escaping his nose. He began to drum his fingers on his bed, waiting. He noticed and made himself stop. Instead, he grabbed the remote and began to flick through choices on his television. Not one for cable, he put on something mindless from the streaming service he had access to; something he’d seen a thousand times and then some; something to take his mind off of whatever this was—this weird, eager interest. Bernard slept beside him, his little back legs up in the air; his furry, white tummy exposed. Copia smiled, running his hand along the rat's belly, scratching it gently as he waited for the telling vibration of his phone. 

_[Lydia]: Dr. Rask told me she had met you when you were three, lol. What did you do after being conscripted for paperwork duty? You’ll have to forgive me, I don't quite understand the way this place works and everyone is very secretive. Truth be told, I haven't really made any acquaintances except my assistant and, well, you, lol._

Copia stared at the message in front of him. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. Bernard twitched in his sleep as Copia responded. 

_[Copia]: I worked for a long time as Dr. Rask’s assistant. And then once I became 18, I was sent to the US to work in the church system there. It was a learning experience that I greatly enjoyed. I’m sorry that you haven't met anyone to talk to aside from your assistant and myself. I cannot speak for your assistant, but I am not a practiced conversationalist. I usually keep to myself._

He sighed just before hitting send. That familiar pang in his chest appearing just as he tossed the phone down onto the bed. He stared at the screen in front of him: waiting. Bernard kicked in the air in his sleep, though chasing what, Copia did not know. His phone lit up, more quickly this time than the previous ones, and he found himself grabbing for it faster. 

_[Lydia]: Oh! Where’d you go in the US? I’m from Virginia, just over the border from Washington DC. But it’s alright, you have nothing to apologize for. It’s not your fault that I’m an outsider in a foreign land lol. I just don’t know how this place works and it seems like everything I run into is another mystery and no one will tell me what these scribbles are on the sides of some of these boxes and what the fuck are the catacombs? Lol._

Copia couldn’t help the honest smile that spread across his face. He ran his left hand through his hair once more, scratching at his scalp; pulling at his greasy hair again. He drew in a breath as he replied. 

_[Copia]: I went all over the US, everywhere from the east coast to the west and then back down south. It's a huge country. I never really realized how big it was until I went there. I have been to DC. I saw your school there. That's how I recognized it on your sweatshirt actually, ha. I hope that's not weird. There are a lot of mysteries here, and even I don’t know all of them, if truth were to be told. What scribbles on the side of the boxes? And the catacombs are absolutely a mess, please do not venture down there. I’ve never even been, and I grew up here._

This time he didn't lay his phone down at all and instead he simply stared at the screen. Watching the typing bubbles pop up. His eyes skittered from the television to the phone, bouncing from screen to screen. Simply waiting for the next message to pop up. His phone vibrated, catching his attention once more and he looked down to see a photo of the side of a box. It had black ink scribbled on the side of it in some kind of code that even he did not recognize. He furrowed his brow at it, then scrolled down to the rest of the text. 

_[Lydia]: This shit. Signe never got back to me about what it is or what it means? It’s some strange symbol system and it's on A LOT of boxes down here. I don't know what to do about it. I can't read it and it isn’t in any language that google picks up for the visual translator on my phone. I was kind of hoping maybe you knew what it is. But if you don’t it’s alright haha. What's the deal with the catacombs? Also, it’s not weird at all to recognize a school you’ve driven past or walked by and simply noticed!_

He stared at the photo for a long moment, zooming in and out of it; muttering to himself. He shook his head as he replied quickly, his fingers flying over the keyboard on the screen. 

_[Copia]: I’ve seen that writing before. I don’t know what it says. Have you spoken to the Overseer of the library and archive? He would know what that says. The next time you speak with Dr. Rask, ask her if you can speak with him. You may have to make an appointment though. Be warned, he may not speak with you about it. If he won’t speak to you, let me know, and I’ll see what I can do. But I make no promises, unfortunately._

Lydia’s text came back like rapid fire. Copia hadn’t even looked away from his phone for a moment before she’d replied. 

_[Lydia]: I actually asked Signe about them, and she said she’d check with the Overseer, but I never heard from him :( I guess he doesn't want to speak with me lol. Is it because I’m not a member of the church? I figured it was a weird private code I’m not allowed access to or whatever._

Copia nodded to himself as he texted his reply. His lips pressed together tightly. His eyes bouncing between the keyboard and the words appearing on the screen. Bernard continued to sleep soundly next to him, his little pink foot in the air, happily twitching away. 

_[Copia]: I can ask him for you, if you’d like? I am not an outsider and he does have to answer to me on some level. But I won’t do that without your permission. I don't want to get you in trouble or jeopardize anything._

The text message bubble popped immediately as he sent his last message. She was replying just as fast as he was, and he felt that thrill rush through him once more—that same heat he’d only experienced a handful of times in his life; that feeling of wanting to talk to someone and knowing they wanted to talk to you just as much. He shook his head, as though trying to dispel that feeling. He didn’t want to jump in with both feet: he knew the dangers of that all too well. But he couldn’t help hanging on. 

_[Lydia]: Nah, you won't jeopardize me! I signed an NDA and all that. Besides, I’m very hard to get rid of, and frankly, I do great work. I haven’t come this far because I look bad on paper or don’t get results! So if you’d like to prod the “overseer” for me, I’d appreciate it! I’d love to have some answers to this mess._

Copia laughed, once more nervously running his hand through his hair. 

_[Copia]: Is that sarcasm I sense coming through the ether?_

And just like that, it was on. There were no pauses, and there was no awkward cadence. It simply was, and it was good and easy and comfortable, and Copia found himself leaning back into the pillows on his bed with a dumb smile on his face. 

_[Lydia]: Haha, yeah maybe a little. I guess I just don’t understand why he won't talk to me. Maybe I’m too low on the totem pole? :\ lol_

_[Copia]: The Overseer is a very busy man, and (not to sound like an ass) I can see him not caring enough to be involved._

_[Lydia]: I get it, I do, really. He has a whole library and archive with hundreds, possibly thousands, of things stored there from times that people have forgotten. That's totally understandable for him to not care about what some strange symbols on a box mean or whether to tell a complete stranger about it if it is a personal system, haha_

_[Copia]: He’s always been aloof, even when I was a kid he was like that. Very distant and cold._

_[Lydia]: Oh, he was here when you were little? No offense, but he must be old then._

_[Copia]: Ha! Yeah, he is older. He’s been around much longer than I have, that's for sure._

_[Lydia]: Well, whatever!! I just hope maybe you can convince him to talk to me! I’d love to know what these symbols mean. Driving me kind of crazy haha_

_[Copia]: When you come to my office to work on the Uninitiated information, bring one of those boxes with the symbols on it. I want to see it first hand and then go and talk to him. I’ll take it with me._

_[Lydia]: Yeah! I can do that! When did you want to meet? I have some time tomorrow night, I usually take friday for myself but this is fine. If you want to, that is! If not, that's fine too and we can work around it. I don’t want to push my schedule on yours if you’re busy!!_

_[Copia]: No, no, that's alright. I think tomorrow at 6 works well. I don't do confessionals on Fridays, so I have some extra time before I eat dinner. Do you know how to get to my office?_

_[Lydia]: You know it’s so funny because I don’t know how to get to your office :) lol_

_[Copia]: Ha, so witty. I can meet you at the library and walk you up. That's easier than giving directions. I can meet you there around 5:45ish?_

_[Lydia]: Yeah!! That works! I’ll bring one of those boxes with those infernal symbols on it. See what you think._

_[Copia]: Yes, I want to see the box, and if you’d like, I can have dinner brought up here for you. I usually eat later and I don’t want to eat in front of you if you haven't eaten or you ate earlier._

_[Lydia]: Oh yeah, that'd be great! Whatever they have is fine, it’s not the best food either way you cut it so I’ll just eat whatever is put in front of me. I’m not picky lol_

_[Copia]: Haha I will admit that the food in the cafeteria is not...exactly the best. But I’ll try to get a selection of things, in case there’s something you really object to._

_[Lydia]: Nah, I’m like Bernard, just lay out some cheese and fruit and I’m good lol_

_[Copia]: I will keep that in mind. I’m glad you’re both so similar._

_[Lydia]: That's how I live my life: eating cheese and fruit and yelling a lot._

_[Copia]: I’ll have you know that Bernard has never yelled._

_[Lydia]: That you know of! You don’t know what he does when he’s off having an adventure, do you?_

_[Copia]: No, no, you’re right. You’ve got me there._

_[Lydia]: See? Law school paid off :)_

_[Copia]: Yes, that was a very strong argument. Well done._

_[Lydia]: Case closed! Now, I must go and eat and do some more work but I thank you for agreeing to help me and know that I really do appreciate it. I’ll see you tomorrow, Cardinal Copia!_

_[Copia]: You’re very welcome, Lydia. I’ll see you at 5:45 tomorrow evening outside of the library._

_[Lydia]: Right on the dot too. I’m never late, so don’t you be! :)_

_[Copia]: I promise I won’t be late. Have a wonderful rest of your evening, and if you have any questions, feel free to text me._

_[Lydia]: Absolutely! Have a great night!!! :)_

Copia did not reply, and instead, he stared at his phone. Realizing it was almost 8:30 in the evening, and he hadn’t had anything to eat. He laid his phone down onto the nightstand by his bed and sat up. His hands ran over his face, putting pressure on his eyes with the heels of his palms. He rubbed at them for a moment; it felt good after staring at that screen for so long. But he still had that same nagging feeling in his chest, that tugging and that pressure—as though he had enjoyed that conversation a little too much. He sighed, pulling his hands away from his eyes, and he looked around the room for a moment. The television continued to blare, and Bernard simply laid on his back, feet still in the air. Copia rubbed the rat's white belly for a moment, thinking to himself. He bit his bottom lip in thought, his tongue running over it. He shook his head, looking around his quarters as though he’d been struck by a bolt of lightning. Suddenly, he spoke aloud, though to no one in particular: “I’m going to have to clean.” 


	14. One Step Forward

_Sweden_

_October 27th, 2017_

_5:34 PM_

Waiting was hard for Lydia. She stood by the entrance to the library, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She watched as a myriad of people went walking by, some of them chatting with one another, laughing and running along to dinner and still some of them on their own. She leaned back against a black marble pillar that stood as a support structure for the doorway to the library, the heavy mahogany doors standing open. She sighed to herself and leaned her head back, looking up at the high-vaulted ceiling. The beautiful stained-glass dome allowed in only so much sunlight, though it was just enough as the sun set to orchestrate a perfect assembly of colors on the white marble floors—colors of a patterned story cut in glass that Lydia openly admitted not knowing the first thing about. She stared upwards at the image nonetheless: it was a picture of a man in white with his hands held out as though he were offering something to the two men on either side of him, who were both clad in black and wearing strange masks. She stared a moment longer, wondering idly who the figures could be before pulling her phone out of her pocket and looking at the time. It was 5:39 PM. She sighed; she hated to wait, but even more than that, she hated when people were late. She leaned back against the cold, black marble pillar and stared at her phone, scrolling through it; the box with the strange writing on it sitting on the floor at her feet. 

“I see that arriving early was a good plan,” a voice said. Lydia looked up to see Cardinal Copia standing in front of her, his black cassock neatly pressed. His gloved hands were clasped behind his back, and he bowed his head just so. She couldn’t help the smile that appeared on her face. 

“I thought you’d be late!” she said as she bent down to pick up the box, but he stepped forward and stopped her, stooping to pick it up himself. 

“I try to be early to everything so I’ll at least gain a reputation for always being on time.” He smiled, rolling his mismatched eyes slightly as he did so. A smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth, and Lydia laughed. 

“That's all I’ve ever wanted: for everyone else to be on time. What a wonderful world it would be!” Lydia exclaimed. Copia laughed in response.

“Shall we?” He nodded his head towards the huge stone staircase he’d walked down, and Lydia nodded her head quickly in kind, gesturing with her arm towards the stairs to invite Copia to lead the way. As she walked behind him for a moment, she realized he was taller then she’d realized before somehow and that his hair was messed up in the back. She made a mental note to tell him to fix it later. As they walked up the curling stairway to the second floor, Copia readjusted the box for a moment on the landing. As he did so, he looked upwards towards the stained glass dome, his gaze somehow disappearing in it for a moment. 

“You wanna trade? I can carry the box up this flight of stairs.” Lydia said, smiling and holding her hands out. Copia huffed a laugh and continued to walk up the stairs. 

“Oh no, I’m alright. I just kind of got lost in the ceiling. I, uh…” He began to say something but stopped himself, flashing Lydia a wide grin as he continued to walk up the spiraling staircase. Lydia squinted at him with a small grin on her face as she walked behind him. She drew in a breath before she spoke, choosing her words carefully. 

“Could you perhaps tell me about the stained glass in the dome ceiling?” She pointed upwards as she spoke. “It’s obviously trying to tell some kind of story, but I’ll be damned if I can figure it out.” She laughed, and Copia found he liked the way it echoed around them in the tight spiral stone staircase. He gripped the box just a little tighter as they came upon the third floor. He nodded with his head as he spoke. 

“The man in white is Papa Nihil,” Copia said quietly as he took another step. “He’s the head of the church.” 

“Wait, I thought, uh...what's-his-name was in charge? Oh, what the hell was his name! Göta told me, but I can’t remember-” Copia cut her off as she thought out loud. 

“Papa Emeritus the Third. That's his name.” He turned to look over his shoulder at her as they stepped onto the third floor and began walking down the hallway instead of continuing up the spiraling stairs. Lydia walked alongside him now, no longer needing to walk upwards in a single file. 

“I’ve never met him. I’ve only ever sort of seen him, I think.” She laughed. Copia smiled as they turned left down the hallway and headed towards an old wooden door. The hall was covered in paintings. Lydia noticed the golden name tags at the bottom of each painting, though she could not read the names as she passed by. 

“Papa Emeritus the Third is the third and youngest of Papa Nihil’s sons,” Copia said quietly as they arrived at the doorway. He placed the box down and fished his keys out of his pocket. Lydia nodded. 

“So what happened to the other two? Did they not want to take up the family crest and sword or…?” Her words dribbled out as Copia fit his key into the door lock and turned it: the door yielded with a satisfying click, then opened. Copia stood there for a moment, staring down at the floor as he thought. He furrowed his brow for the briefest of instances. 

“They retired.” His voice was plain and to the point, as if that information was simple and easy to find knowledge. As he spoke, he looked directly up at Lydia, then gestured to his office, and she entered, followed quickly by Copia. He placed the box down on the ground for a moment, going to reach for the key again but stopped. Lydia looked up at him.

“Did you forget something?” she asked. He shrugged as he turned to her, shutting the door with a firm _click_. 

“It's just that I almost always keep this door locked if I’m in here...but I don’t want to give you the wrong impression. You’re, of course, free to leave whenever you’d like.” He bowed his head just enough for her to notice. Lydia smiled to herself, her eyes glancing over the office. She nodded as she took in the kitchen that was attached to the office, albeit a very small one. She also noticed that towards the back of the room, there was a doorway into what she guessed was another chamber; though, the door was shut at the moment. She turned to Copia and shrugged, holding her shoulders up as she did. 

“I appreciate that offer, should the need arise.” She spoke with a dry-humored tone to her voice as she nodded to him and turned around to look at the fireplace behind her. It was not ornate: instead, it was plain and simple, something that would be considered conservative decor where she was from. She found that contrast interesting, since every other decor choice in the church seemed to be so lavish and over the top. Copia laughed outright at Lydia’s words, which pulled her out of her reverie. Copia let his hands fall to his sides, more comfortable than he was earlier.

“I, uh...I’m having someone from the kitchen staff bring dinner up. As I said, I didn’t know what you’d like or not like, so I just asked for some of everything.” Lydia had walked over to the far left hand side wall and examined Copia’s bookshelf as he spoke. She nodded her head in silence, tilted as it was so she could read the spines of the books littered on the shelf before speaking. 

“Well, I’m like Bernard though, I’ll eat just about anything. But I appreciate the effort you’ve put forth.” She stood up and turned around to face him, her hand over her heart. “You could have just let me fend for myself, so thank you for your generous offer and for your time this evening.” Her words and her smile were genuine, and for the briefest of moments, they locked eyes. Copia found himself silently standing there, his mismatched eyes locked with hers for a sliver of time as if everything would hold still forever in one heartbeat. But, inevitably, as it always was, the moment was broken: Lydia glanced away and, once more, looked at the bookshelf behind her. She scanned the floor-to-ceiling shelves, realizing suddenly that she'd never have enough time in the world to examine all the books he had there. Copia drew in a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding when Lydia suddenly spoke up loudly and clearly, her voice reaching the highest peak he’d ever heard her speak in. 

“There he is!” she said excitedly as she walked over to Bernard, who lay asleep on his elevated little bed by the fireplace. He squeaked merrily and loudly as she approached, though he made no effort to get up. “Oh, I don't have any cheese or fruit for you. I’m sorry, your majesty,” Lydia whispered quietly to the white rat as she scratched under his chin. Copia smiled, rolling his eyes as he pulled off his gloves. 

“Don’t boost his ego. He already thinks he runs the place.” Copia took the lid off the box, and Lydia scratched Bernard's belly as she squatted down to his level. She spoke over her shoulder. 

“So, you were saying about the stained glass dome? We got distracted.” She laughed and turned to look at him as she continued to pet Bernard (who was very thoroughly pleased with his visitor).

“I see I’m not going to get away without giving away church history. Alright, so..." Lydia chuckled as she stood up and walked over to the desk where the box was sitting, “Nihil is the man in white, and then on either side, it’s...Alpha and Omega, I think. Yeah, that's right. Because along the outer edge are all the brothers and sisters.” He nodded firmly as he spoke, as though he were desperately trying to remember exactly what it was. But even so, it was shaky at best. Lydia nodded her head, her arms now crossed over her chest. 

“Who are Alpha and Omega?” she asked, her voice even and firm. Copia looked up at her as though he hadn’t heard her and stared, his eyes wide and mouth a straight line on his face. 

“Uh...they’re like...icons? That’s probably the best way to put that. Think of them as….tenet upholders. I suppose that would be a good way to describe them.” He smiled vaguely at her, not wanting to get into any discussion requiring him to explain their exact nature. He immediately began to rifle through the paperwork in the box, but Lydia stopped him. She reached out and grabbed the edge of the box just enough to catch Copia’s attention. 

“So, they’re like saints? Like in the Catholic church?” she asked, her words sharp and eyes narrowed. Copia’s left eyebrow went up. 

“It’s very complicated, you know.” A small smile played on his face as he observed her for a moment. “I mean, I love that you’re asking questions. I would love to answer you honestly. After all, I don’t get to speak to many outsiders anymore. But…” he paused for a moment, tilting his head this way and that as he spoke, “there are some things even I am not allowed to speak of. Think it of like...the strictest NDA ever written.” He laughed, holding his hands out and shrugging. An apologetic smile on his face. Lydia sighed, laughing as she did so.

“Alright, I get it.” She rolled her eyes, sighing gently as she reached for the lid of the box. Copia tried to suppress the smile, which threatened to overtake his features. Lydia held up the lid for the box and tapped it with her finger. “This is what I really need to know about. What the hell are these letters? What do they mean? Google couldn’t identify them, and I’ve never seen them anywhere else ever, frankly,” she said as she handed the lid over to Copia. He took it in his naked hands and stared at them for a long time. Lydia could hear the fireplace behind her crackling, the sounds of Bernard snoring, and the occasional dripping of water somewhere far off, deep inside the wall. The silence was all consuming, but it was comfortable. She had seen him do this before: disappear into whatever he was reading, becoming absorbed by it and seemingly allowing it to encompass him completely. She liked that though, and watching him now, she could see that same determination that had been on his face before. She couldn’t lie to herself: she was eager to see what would come of this meeting. Finally, Copia sighed, running his fingers along the cardboard lid. 

“I’ve seen this before. Many times. But...not anywhere out in the open. It’s an ugly thing though, an eyesore. I hate the way it looks.” He laid the lid back down onto the desk. Lydia picked it up and gazed at it, turning it to the left and then the right. 

“Do you think it sounds ugly? You know how some things just...look like they’d sound mean?” She stared at the box lid as she asked. Copia drew in a sharp breath and nodded as he spoke.

“Yes, it looks cruel. It looks cold and without any compassion. I don’t like it. But that doesn't change the fact that I have seen it before,” he said as he began to walk over to the fireplace and put another log onto the fire. Lydia followed him over, the box lid clamped tightly in her hand. 

“I’ve only seen boxes with these markings on them down in the ancillary storage area. That disgusting dirt pit.” 

Copia snorted, laughing at her description. “Dirt pit? Yeah, that's true. It has no floor, if I remember correctly. It is, in fact...literally dirt.” Copia’s voice was completely deadpan and serious as he spoke; his eyes were wide and his mouth was the straightest line, with just a hint of a smile at the edges. They both stared at one another for the smallest of seconds and then both burst into laughter. They laughed together for a brief few moments, the fireplace giving off louder crackling from the new log. Lydia gestured to the box lid to try and regain some composure. As she spoke, the mirth in her voice kept leaking in. 

“That's hilariously true. Shit, it really is. I hate going down there by myself, and then there's this weird door!” She held her hands out as she spoke.“I blocked it up with boxes because I hate even looking at it.” She laughed again, but this time Copia did not. He nodded sternly, his mouth a straight line as he looked at her unflinchingly. His gaze was piercing. 

“I would keep those boxes right where they are, if I were you.” His voice had lost all jollity; it was deadly cold and precise. His mismatched eyes bore into her blue ones for a tense few seconds. Lydia smiled at him; a genuine, warm smile. She never pulled her eyes away from his. Her voice was softer this time, as though to denote that she was, indeed, very serious. 

“You got it, boss. You don’t have to tell me twice.” She laughed, and Copia raised an eyebrow at her as she spoke, barely able to hide his smile at her verbal honesty as she continued. “I won’t place myself into danger like that. I have too many things to do! I can’t die yet, you know?” She rolled her eyes as she mockingly tittered her head back and forth, her hands on her hips. 

“I’m glad to hear that. Even if you are being sarcastic about it.” The slightest hint of a blush crept into Lydia’s cheeks as he spoke. 

“So, where have you seen this before, if I may ask?” Lydia asked as she tucked her hands behind her back, waiting. Copia drew in a deep breath and stared back down at the box lid. He furrowed his brow again, as though in deep concentration. His lips were tightly pressed together into a thin line as he looked at the script before him. He let out the deep breath he’d been holding. 

“Well, I’ve seen these letters in the library actually. But not in any area you may gain access to, unfortunately.” He laid the box lid back down on the desk and looked up at her, his face was plain. Lydia ran her tongue along her teeth.

“Why not?” Her voice was low as she spoke. 

“Oh, well, it’s off limits to outsiders. It’s referred to as the ‘Clergy Only’ section of the library.” He grimaced for a moment, but Lydia tapped her lips with a single index finger. She hummed as she thought. 

“Can you...go in and see if there's anything there though? Maybe something would match this lid?” She pointed to the lid as she spoke. Copia thought, tilting his head to the left and then the right. Finally, he nodded. 

“Yes, I suppose I could. But-” He was cut off by a harsh rapping at the door. He held up one hand and walked back across the room. He reached for the door handle and held the door open for the kitchen staff. They came flooding into the room, and as they did, Lydia grabbed the box off the desk for them. She set it down into the leather chair by the fireplace and watched as the kitchen staff set down trays and glasses; they set the whole table right on the desk. Lydia looked around, noticing suddenly that Copia had no dining room, let alone an actual dinner table. Copia clasped his hands behind his back as he stood and watched them work. One of them brought a chair over and sat it at the desk, opposite the other. Once everything was set, they disappeared as quickly as they arrived—like a puff of smoke in the breeze. Copia gestured to the set desk in front of him.

“Whatever you like is yours,” he said with a congenial smile on his face. 

“This is a lot!” Lydia exclaimed, sitting down opposite Copia’s chair. “Do they always bring you dinner?” she asked as she pulled her napkin into her lap and waited for Copia to sit down. As he pulled his chair out and took his seat, he found himself following her lead and putting his napkin in his lap, though normally he’d never do that—and he knew it. He shook his head gently.

“I usually don’t eat like this. I, uh...usually just eat cereal standing over the sink.” He didn’t inwardly curse himself but, instead, smirked. Lydia laughed, covering her mouth with her hand as she did so, obviously trying not to laugh as loudly as she really wanted to. 

“I mean, I try to eat regular meals, because I like the structure. I miss cooking. A lot. But I can see how one might enjoy eating cold cereal by the kitchen sink at midnight…in the dark.” The smile on her face told him she understood, and her eyes seemed to light up. Copia chuckled and picked up his fork to scoot the potatoes around on his plate. Lydia had already begun to eat in earnest. “This food is way better than what I usually get down there,” Lydia noted as she continued to eat. 

“Ah, yes, this is not the regular cafeteria food. I just sort of asked the kitchens to throw together something that had a wide variety, and this is what they brought.” He shrugged as he put his fork in his mouth. Lydia nodded vigorously as she chewed. 

“Yeah, absolutely not the usual kitchen fodder. This is so much better! I think there's actually salt on this,” she said as she gestured to the chicken she had been eating. Copia laughed as he watched her point to the various things she did like and the things she didn't like. He found himself listening intently when she explained why she did or didn’t like them. Bernard joined them and crawled into Lydia’s lap, much to Copia's abject horror. But Lydia simply laughed him off and talked to Bernard like a child, offering him vegetables and cheese and fruit and whatever else he wanted, right from her own plate. “He’s like a dog!” She remarked again, holding him up so he was more comfortable leaning against her and eating whatever she handed him. Copia rolled his eyes.

“Yes, he’s a dog, and he’s living his best life right now. He’s very pleased with his current arrangement.” Lydia laughed as Copia sighed and put his fork down, leaning forward on the table and knitting his fingers together. Bernard continued to chew away at a handful of sliced cherry tomatoes that Lydia held out for him. 

“We keep getting distracted,” Lydia said quietly as Bernard chewed happily. “So, if you think you can poke around in the _secret portion of the library_ …” Copia raised an eyebrow at her, a smirk on his face: though, this was not for the last time. “If you think you can do that, then we might be able to see where this code leads or where it comes from.” She cleared her throat as she spoke, holding out more cherry tomatoes and now some cheese for Bernard, who sat puddled in her lap. Copia leaned back into his chair, watching the two across from him. He pressed his lips together in thought again, as he always did. Lydia watched him from over the rims of her glasses. She liked it: watching him get lost in his thoughts. It was always obvious; always written on his face, clear as day. She kept feeding Bernard and jostling him slightly, bouncing him almost, as she watched Copia quietly contemplate whatever was going through his head. But she let him do it. She fed Bernard and quietly waited for a verdict. Copia stretched his hands out and sighed, finally crumpling his right hand into a fist and resting it on the desk. 

"Instead of me...spying—especially since I don't really know what I'm looking for—why don’t you come with me? I can get you in, and we can just...look around and see what there is to see." Every word out of his mouth was plain and simple: completely direct. He watched her as she sat across from him, holding Bernard in her lap. She squinted as she thought. Copia watched as she ran her tongue over her top row of teeth. 

"Oh yeah, I guess that would be better, wouldn't it? But how do you plan on sneaking me in if it's for clergy only?" She asked as she ran her left hand down Bernard's belly as he continued to eat cherry tomatoes out of her right. 

“Well, I don’t need anyone’s permission. I _am_ clergy. So therefore, I can go in there. If you happen to be with me when I go, well,” he teetered his head back and forth quickly for a moment, a sharp smirk on his face. Lydia laughed and pointed to him. 

“Oh, I do like you. I do. You’re hilarious.” she said as she laughed, still rubbing Bernard's belly as she spoke. “I appreciate you putting your neck out for my project like that though. You really don’t have to. If you really don’t want to be involved, I understand.” Her voice was soft spoken and serious once more. Copia nodded his head as he leaned to the left in his chair. 

“I want you to be able to complete your project. When you showed me the records for those Uninitiated, it meant...a lot to me that…” he paused for a moment, looking down at his own hands for the briefest of seconds, “uh, that someone would tell you to consult with... _me_...about that.” He licked his bottom lip as he spoke. Lydia nodded as she continued to pet Bernard, who continued to munch on tomatoes. 

“You said earlier that you don’t get to speak with many outsiders anymore. Do you only speak to people within this church or do you still have friends out there in the wider world?” Lydia’s words were soft. The room was still but not uncomfortable; it was warm and, somehow, secure. She sat in silence and waited, her hand still gently holding the large, white rat in her lap, who now was quickly falling asleep where he lay. For a split second, a part of him whispered that he should simply tell her what she wants to hear, whatever will appease her. But an even quieter part of him was somehow smarter and faster and pushed the truth out of his mouth before the other portion even had a chance to think the decision over. 

“No, I only really have two friends actually. I know most people on the surface. I have a lot of acquaintances though. But yes, to answer you, I only really speak to people in the church.” He didn’t break eye contact with her, and for some reason, he didn’t feel the familiar, ever-creeping uncomfortable sensation he usually got when revealing anything about himself. Lydia nodded.

“I also don’t have a lot of friends. I have maybe one? Wow, I guess I’m not very popular.” She laughed, throwing her head back as she did; her cheeks turning pink. 

“I’m fine with it though.” Copia said suddenly. “It feels weird to say that, but I think, at this point in my life, I like the fact that there's...several of me? In a way.” Lydia leaned in, pushing her plate to the left and resting her elbow on the surface of the desk. She looked off into the corner of the room for a moment, as though gathering her thoughts before she spoke. 

“Yeah, absolutely. Not in...a crazed lunatic way, of course.” They both laughed as she continued. “But I mean, in a way that perhaps this person,” she pointed to the spoon sitting at her left as she spoke, “might not know the things, or may not be privy to, the more personal items of ourselves. Like, say, maybe this person is.” She pointed to the knife. Copia nodded and pointed to the knife, licking his lips before speaking. 

“Yes! It’s begun to feel like levels, I suppose is a better way to put it. I have this ability now, with age, to see who I can be relatively safe with…and who I cannot be. I wish I’d had it when I was younger though. Would have saved me a lot of agony, I think.” He let out a huff of a laugh, and Lydia nodded in agreement, a smile on her face. 

“That's the trick though. It’s a learning curve, I think. Unfortunately, we have to go through this horrible agony and wade waist deep through all these people to be able to get to that hilltop. You know what I mean?” She squinted as she spoke, pointing at Copia with her index finger. As though she were surveying him. 

“Oh, I know. It’s been a long way, but I think—I hope—it was worth it.” He sighed, tilting his head slightly as he did so. A heartbeat passed, and he tapped his index finger on the desk six times before continuing. “I don't think you told me, but would you mind sharing with me who told you to speak to me about the records? I’m just curious.” He sat very still, only his tongue running over his bottom lip. His index finger tapped silently against the desk, in between his forgotten plate of food and his glass. Lydia sat back in her chair, a contemplative look on her face. She ran her right hand down Bernard's sleeping back and down to his pink tail. She looked down at the rat in her lap as she spoke. 

“It was my assistant, actually. She’s...a very good person, and she works very hard, and she's very good at what she does. I hope it’s alright that she told me about it? I don’t want her to get into any trouble! If there is any.” Lydia looked up at Copia. She continued to run her hand down Bernard’s back as she stared ahead of her into Copia’s mismatched eyes. She found herself regretting saying anything if the look on Copia’s face was to be taken into account: he had narrowed his eyes so that they were almost slits, and his mouth was a thin straight line.

“Göta? The tall one with the long dark hair?” He gestured her hair length with his hand as he spoke, and Lydia nodded.

“Yes, but if she shouldn’t have said anything, then I shouldn’t have either and-” Copia cut her off with a wave of his hand. He leaned forward and steepled his fingers against the desk as he spoke, looking up at the ceiling for a moment before allowing his gaze to fall on Lydia. 

“Oh no, no. I know who she is. I was trying to place her face to when I would have told her that though.” He shrugged it off. “Either way, I’m glad she told you. And no, she’s not in _trouble_.” He widened his eyes as he spoke, smiling in a faux maniacal way. Lydia smiled back, her hand continuing to roll gently down the rats back. 

“Yeah, I’m glad she told me, too. Because, in all honesty, I was starting to get overwhelmed with the breadth of information. There’s just so much, and I don’t have enough background information to sort it all out, if I’m being fair.” Her voice was low as she spoke, but her eyes stayed fixed on his. Copia nodded and readjusted in his seat. 

“There’s a lot of history to it, I know personally how much information there is on it. I am a little shocked that you started there, actually.” He tapped his index finger against the desk once more. 

“It was actually one of the first boxes I ever ran into,” she said with a distant smile on her face. “Everything else was either scrolls or books. The Uninitiated boxes were the ones with actual files in it.” She ran her hand down Bernard’s back once more, the sleeping rat curling his tail around himself as he readjusted in her lap. She looked up at Copia, who still sat across from her. Idly, she found herself contemplating his mismatched eyes. Copia had started to stack his plates, the smallest on top of the largest. He was talking about how they should probably actually do something productive, and he laughed. Lydia smiled at him, but suddenly, his eyes were all she could think about. It was an all-consuming thought: she knew she’d seen them before, somewhere. Copia had gathered all the dishes together and placed them back on their tray.

“I think we can find out more about the strange code on the side of the box later. But for now, let's fish through the box you brought up. I want to see what the date is on those; if they're more current or not,” Copia said as he picked up the tray and took it into the kitchen, setting it on the counter and reemerging in short order. 

“Oh, what do I do?” Lydia asked, pointing to a sleeping Bernard on her lap. Copia tilted his head and chuckled. He walked over to the box of paperwork, which still sat in his chair in front of the fireplace. He picked it up, placing it gently on the surface of the desk.

“I’ll just stand up and dig through this, you can sit there and…” he gestured to Bernard, “...and play baby sitter to a rat.” Lydia covered her mouth, trying not to laugh as hard as she wanted to. 

“Yeah, I don’t want to disturb him, in all honesty.” She ran a hand down the rat’s back once more. Copia nodded tightly, lowering his voice as he spoke. 

“I agree, also, these files are all pretty current. I think this one says 2003.” He pulled it close to his face and tried to make out the writing. Lydia wasn’t paying attention though. She was too busy watching those startling, mismatched eyes scan the paperwork. Her lips were pressed together in a thin line. She bit her lip and nodded her head at whatever Copia was saying, but she could not process the words as she realized she’d seen those eyes many times before—and now they were right in front of her. Though, she had to admit, she didn’t believe in supernatural things. She ran her hand down Bernard’s back once more as Copia continued to put paperwork into piles according to their date of origin. As Copia spoke about the paperwork, Lydia suddenly realized where she’d seen his eyes before. _The man in those dreams,_ she thought to herself. _He had those same eyes._


	15. The Phone Call

_Sweden_

_October 29th, 2017_

_6:11 PM_

There were only a few groups of people outside: some were mingling in the gardens as the very last rays of the sun went down; still others were sitting on the large stone porch, which extended off the back of the main building and led down two smaller flights of stone stairs into the gardens. Beyond that beautifully laid out arrangement was the hedge maze, which was a source of great amusement for many wishing to become lost and hidden away from prying eyes. Lydia was pacing back and forth down at the far end of the open expanse of green lawn, alongside the lazy stream that was overcast with many ancient trees. Her one left hand tucked securely into the pouch of her sweatshirt. She paced slowly. Her right hand holding her phone to her tightly. 

“Good of you to pick up the goddamn phone,” Lydia chuckled. The voice on the other end sighed. 

“Yeah, I mean I could have left you hanging, but that's not very home bro of me, you know?” The other voice laughed. “So, what's up? Are you liking it there? Isn’t it cold all the time?” The man on the other end of the line said everything very quickly, his questions coming off in rapid fire. Lydia sighed, looking up at the fringes of the sun as it set behind the trees. 

“It’s not _that_ cold, Paul. It’s like home—the weather, I mean. But the people are...kind of distant. Hard to talk to, in truth,” she added quietly. 

“No social interaction? You must be dying.” He chuckled. “But I saw some of the photos you took! The property is incredible. Do you like your boss, at least?”

Lydia shrugged—a force of habit despite being unseen by her companion. “Yeah, my boss is alright. Very laid back and everything. Allows me to do whatever I want within reason, really.” She laughed. Paul laughed along with her—his voice was warm and friendly and something she had missed. 

“I have to be real: all I knew was that you’d accepted this position at a church in Sweden, and we never talked about it. But...you know, I mean, if you really don’t ever like it, you can always come home.” Lydia could hear his dogs in the background as they skittered through the tiled kitchen he had: a kitchen she knew well. She did not reply to his inquiries. Her eyes scanned the far tree line of the forest as she allowed the silence to envelope her. She stopped pacing and was quiet for a moment. A piece of her didn’t want to answer. A little voice in her head whispered, _not now, wait,_ and she found herself speaking words, but they were hollow.

“Honestly, I wanted...I wanted a change of pace. Maybe a different scenery. I was getting itchy feet, I guess. I felt like what I was doing in DC was...stale and meaningless.” She shrugged to herself once again, noncommittally. “It gets old, you know? Feeling like what you’re doing doesn't matter.” She could sense Paul nodding silently on the other end of the line.

“Yeah, I understand that completely. But couldn’t you have found something, I don't know, closer to home?” He gave a half-hearted chuckle. Lydia scuffed her shoe at the grass, a smirk on her face. 

“Yeah, I could have, but...I don’t know. This just felt...right. The offer came from nowhere. I didn’t even approach them. They approached me. So, I figured, ‘why not’ and went for it.” She sighed into the phone.

“I get it. I was just curious is all! Anyway, what's going on that you’d request a phone call?” He inquired in a faux-serious voice, and Lydia cracked a smile as she paced again along the edge of the stream. Her voice grew stern and heavy in an instant. 

“I need to ask you something. It’s important.” Her voice took on a hard edge, and Paul was silent for only a moment. 

“Yeah, of course, what’s going on?” Lydia could hear a huff of air as he flopped onto his couch, and she could imagine so clearly how he probably looked: his elbows resting on his knees; his phone glued to his ear; his brows knitted in concern. Lydia licked her bottom lip as she spoke. 

“Do you remember when we were younger, and I kept having those weird dreams?” Lydia began to pace alongside the stream once more. 

“Oh yeah, of course I do,” he replied simply. Lydia nodded silently before speaking.

“Remember...how my dad made me go to a psychiatrist?” Lydia’s voice became lower as she spoke.

“Of course, I remember. I think the arguments you and your dad got into over it are forever burned into my memory.” Paul laughed as he sat back on his couch, grabbing his phone and laying it on his stomach as he listened. Lydia continued to pace across the lawn, finally turning around on her heel and walking back the way she had come. The soft sounds of the stream were somehow comforting—despite the ever growing darkness and the looming shadows of the trees, she didn’t feel in danger in the least bit. 

“So, remember how in undergrad, I told you about the dreams? Dreams about...the faceless person with heterochromia?” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. On the other end, Paul nodded as he spoke.

“Yep. And I also remember you stopped telling the psychiatrist about them,” Paul said as if he were reading it from something—though truly, it was pure muscle memory at this point. He then went silent, drumming his fingers on his chest: waiting. 

“Well, yeah, when she just wouldn’t stop harping on it!” Lydia looked up for a moment, realizing that the darkness was all encompassing now and decided to make her way back to the main building. “I still had them though, those dreams, for years and years. Off and on again, over and over. Sometimes it would go for months without having one. Maybe a year. Then boom!” she snapped her fingers as she spoke, “I’d have one again. Always the same faceless person. Always with heterochromia and that was the only trait. No discerning physical features, no voice, nothing: just heterochromia.” She kept her voice low as she slowly meandered her way back to the main building. The cold air of the evening began to whip up around her, and she pulled the hood of her sweatshirt up around her head. On the other end of the line, Paul sighed audibly. 

“Wasn’t there another thing? I remember you telling me another trait about those dreams. Something about…” he paused for a moment, thinking, she could hear him clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, “....something about the age of the faceless person?” Lydia stopped walking and opened her eyes wide as though just now remembering totally. 

“Yes! That's it! The person was always older than me! It was one of those dreamscape things where it's like...you just _know something,_ but you don’t know how you know? I just always knew they were older than me and that they had heterochromia. That's it. That's all it ever was.” She sighed and then began to walk back to the main building once more. Her sneakers squeaked over the wet grass as she walked. The sounds of people chattering quietly and laughing to themselves in their groups was beginning to get louder as she drew closer to the building. 

“So, why did you ask to call and talk about this with me? I mean, it’s fine! I don't mind talking about it, but you did specifically mention you needed to speak with me.” He did not laugh where he usually would have as he finished his sentence, and Lydia felt the rising tension over the line. She began to slow her pace once more. She picked at the piled-up fabric inside the pouch of her sweatshirt as she thought; her teeth digging into her bottom lip as she drew in a breath and stopped walking. The sounds of the stream faded and gone, only to be replaced by the sounds of laughter and chatter of people she did not know. She sighed into the phone, turning around and gazing at the large open expanse of pitch black lawn behind her. 

“I met someone here with heterochromia.” She said nothing else and waited. On the other end of the line, she could hear Paul sitting up and grabbing his phone. The noise of the microphone against fabric was scratchy and loud. He was quiet for several moments. 

“I mean...there _are_ people with heterochromia, Lydia. You know? I mean….it’s a genetic thing. It’s rare! It’s actually very rare. But people _do_ have it.” His voice was taut but clear. She shook her head as she spoke, her eyes closed for a moment. 

“No, no, I know they do.” Her voice dropped down a little more to a harsh whisper, as though she were admitting something she had barely been able to admit to herself. “It’s just….this feels different. There’s something....something I can’t put my finger on.” She closed her eyes for a second as she finished speaking. She could hear Paul on the other end. He was shifting around, clearing his throat, drawing in a deep breath: he was uncomfortable. Lydia squinted in the darkness, looking up at the main building with all its beautiful warm, glowing lights. She allowed their conversation to fall into a strange, tight silence. But finally, Paul broke it. 

“Look, you know me Lydia. I’m not like...supernatural or superstitious or anything. I really think this is just a coincidence. Heterochromia is something in the world, you know?” He sighed as he continued. “I’m sure this is just a weird coincidence. I’m sure those dreams were just...you trying to process a...great trauma, you know? Didn’t your dad say once how dreams are just a dumping ground for excess thoughts our brains don’t know what to do with?” Lydia drew in a breath through her nose as she continued to walk back to the main building. Her footsteps picked up speed as she neared the main portion of the garden. 

“Yeah,” she fidgeted with her sweatshirt, “Probably just a coincidence. Well, thanks for the talk though, Paul. I do appreciate it.” As she pulled her phone away from her ear she heard him tell her that she was welcome and she could hear his trademark laughter as she hung up the phone, slipping it back into the pouch of her sweatshirt. She tucked both of her hands in there now and walked back in earnest to the main building. She passed by groups of people sitting outside in the cool fall air. Listening to them laugh and talk amongst themselves made her miss home. She shifted uncomfortably as she walked, pulling her hood up tighter around her face. Her footsteps were quick and lite. As she crossed the lawn with an aggressive speed, she found herself overcome with an unsatisfied feeling, a lingering taste of distaste and unanswered riddles. 

She walked up past the side entrance in the building which led to the kitchens. The sounds of clanging pots and pans and shouting bounced around her, but she was unphased—her mind elsewhere. She plowed onward up the hill, her footfalls on the grass slipping only slightly. The darkness was all encompassing as she ascended up the hill and onto the gravel driveway, walking past the huge garage that curled down and around the front end of the property. The lights were on in the building and she could see men working on two vehicles, the garage door hanging open; the men illuminated by fluorescent lights. She shrugged them off and kept walking past the first wing of the building. Usually, she’d notice the fountain in the middle or perhaps think back on her time in college, remembering how similar the properties appeared. But this time, she simply trudged by, looking down at the gravel driveway. Her shoes crunching down onto the small stones, making her approach apparent. 

The two huge wooden doors stood halfway ajar. One of them propped open for the evening and the other shut and locked. But it didn’t matter—a single person didn’t need both doors to be open to pass through them. Lydia walked inside and kept her hood up as she made quick work walking over the marble floors and down to the eastern wing of the building. She walked quickly past the stairs and into the library, passing other groups of people as she went. They ignored her and she passed by unhindered, making her way back to her office. She slipped through the door and into the darkened room. She ran around and turned some lights on that she had specifically requested from Signe Rask, and now the room didn’t seem so unwelcoming and drab. She ran her hand through her short red hair and dug her nails into her scalp for a moment. She sighed, looking around the office, still feeling that dissatisfied feeling in her gut. She had wanted something else from Paul that she did not get, and she knew it. She wandered over to her desk and flopped into her chair, taking her glasses off and running her hand down the bridge of her nose. She sighed, leaning back into the leather chair, making it squeak as she did so. Absently, she jiggled her knee. Reaching forward, she grabbed a pen and mindlessly played with it for a few moments while she let herself disappear into her own head. 

“That was the most unfulfilling conversation I’ve had in a long time,” she whispered to herself as that singular feeling gnawed at her. 


	16. Paintings and Generous Offers

_Sweden_

_November 2nd, 2017_

_4:16 PM_

“Oh, are you opening the box with the paintings?” Göta asked as she got up from her seated position on the floor. She dusted herself off as she stood, the box she’d been working on abandoned for the time. 

“Yep, I can’t stand it anymore! I have to know what's in there,” Lydia said as she pulled her white cloth gloves out of her desk. She unbuttoned them at the cuff and slipped them on. “I’ve been waiting all day! It’s been taunting me from the corner of my eye all day long! Driving me crazy,” she said as she flexed her fingers for a moment in the gloves before buttoning them once more. She pushed her sleeves further up her arms to her elbows and grabbed a box cutter knife off her desk. She pushed the blade against the edges of the tape, and the old brittle plastic broke easily. The box, it would seem, wasn’t a cardboard box after all, but a wooden one. It was very old and covered in dust. Göta coughed as Lydia popped open the lid, and a plume of dust soared into the air; the lid went clattering to the ground. Lydia covered her face, her eyes closing momentarily as she waved her hands in the air, dispelling the dust cloud. She placed the box cutter back on her desk then turned around and began to look at the paintings inside the box. 

“I thought they’d be larger, truth be told,” Lydia said quietly. 

“So did I, actually,” Göta said as she leaned forward and began to pick the first one up. “Oh, they’re personal portraits. That's why they’re smaller than the large-scale ones we have hanging in the halls.” She stared at the canvas for a moment until she carried it over to the desk and leaned the painting against the wood. She stepped back and admired it for a moment, her arms crossed over her chest. Lydia squinted at her; wondering. 

“Who are they of?” Lydia asked, gesturing to the one that was still leaning against her desk. Göta took a step back, surveying it. 

“I believe this is Lady Léonie, Papa Emeritus the First’s,” Göta said very matter-of-factly. Lydia raised an eyebrow.

“His wife?” Lydia asked as she walked closer to the painting for a moment, her hands tucked behind her back as she leaned in to get a better look. 

“Yes, well,” Göta tilted her head to the left for a moment as she thought. But Lydia interjected before Göta could reply. 

“Oh! You mean she was his first _wife,_ and they’re divorced?” Lydia asked. Göta laughed, and she drew in a breath before she spoke. 

“No, no, Lady Léonie was Papa Emeritus the First’s _primary_ wife.” Göta raised her eyebrows as she spoke. The slightest smile on her face appeared as it was obvious the concept dawned on Lydia, who now held up her finger in the air, seemingly asking a question. 

“You mean they all have...multiple wives? Like polygamy? I don't have any problem with it, for the record!” She held her hands up, palms out, speaking quickly. “I just like knowing these things. When I came here, no one really told me anything.” She shrugged, her arms back to being crossed over her chest. Göta nodded her head, a knowing smile spreading across her face. She knitted her fingers together as she spoke. 

“That’s the reaction most people would give. I understand completely. It’s not something that's…widely known outside of the church, anyway. So even if you had looked it up before coming, well, it may not have come up.” She shrugged noncommittally and gave a short laugh. Lydia nodded, her mouth a straight line, her eyes locked onto the painting. 

“So, she's his primary wife. What does that mean though? What are the implications of that?” Lydia asked, her voice was stern as she walked back over to the box of paintings. Mentally, she filed these same questions away for later, reminding herself to ask Copia. The other woman nodded her head thoughtfully.

“Really, it just means she was the only one who could give him any heirs. The others were just,” Göta gestured with her hand in the air vaguely, “partners. Though, _curiously,_ Papa Emeritus the First wasn’t known for that. Usually, well, in the case of Papa Nihil, there were many and many more still.” Göta chuckled as she spoke. But Lydia raised her right eyebrow as she looked at her assistant. 

“Is that sarcasm I detect?” Lydia asked as she continued to peer into the darkened box and grasped another painting with her gloved hands. 

“Perhaps a bit. Papa Nihil was, and is, still very much known for having many, uh...companions.” Göta blinked as a forced smile found its way onto her face. Lydia laughed, placing the next canvas down and leaning it against the back of the desk. 

“Well, I can’t blame him. If I was the supreme power of all of this,” Lydia held her hands up, gesturing to the ceiling and the walls and the church as a whole as she spoke, “I’d probably have a lot of companions, too, I suppose.” She laughed again, and this time, Göta joined her in earnest. As their laughter died out though, Göta noticed the painting that Lydia had selected from the box. 

“Oh, this is lovely!” she exclaimed as she crouched down to look closer at it. 

“Who is it?” Lydia asked quickly. 

“This is Papa Emeritus the Third. He’s very young here though. Probably about, oh I’d say, ten or eleven.” She ran her fingers over the metal plate at the bottom, brushing away the dust. 

“He’s the guy in charge now, right?” Lydia questioned, arms crossed once more over her chest. Göta nodded as she stood up. 

“Yes, he’s papa now. If this painting of him as a child was in here though, I do wonder what else we’ll find.” Lydia shrugged and turned back to the large box, reaching inside she grabbed another painting. Pulling it out carefully, she carried it over and leaned it against the desk just as she had the other two. 

“Wow, this is a treasure trove!” Göta said as she went over to the painting and looked more closely at it. She bent down and, once again, wiped the metal plate off to see the names. Lydia didn’t have to ask, as Göta simply read aloud, “This is Papa Emeritus the First, the Second, and the Third! I don’t know how old they all are, but the Second and the Third look young, so probably a long time ago, I imagine.” Her voice petered off. Lydia hummed, indicating that she was listening and then went back to taking out the last of the paintings. It was smaller than the others. Still a portrait—but much smaller. And it caught her attention immediately. Holding it with both gloved hands, she gently leaned it against the box from whence it came. 

“Who is this?” Lydia asked, pointing to the painting. Göta walked over and without missing a beat she answered.

“That is Papa Emeritus the Second when he led the congregation.” She gave a soft but forced—smile. Lydia squinted at it. 

“What's with the face paint?” she asked, gesturing to the man's face in the painting. 

“That is skull paint.” Göta pointed to it on the canvas. “They have to earn this somehow. And before you ask, no, I don’t know how.” Lydia chuckled but continued to look closely at the painting. She furrowed her brow as she stared at it. Göta stood by idly, shifting her weight from one foot to the next. Finally, Lydia spoke over her shoulder.

“Is it only the...head guys here,” she pointed to the painting as she spoke, “who wear this skull paint?” 

“No, there are other high ranking people within the church who do also wear face paint.” Göta thought for a moment as Lydia nodded her head, still staring dead ahead of her at the painting. She opened her mouth to speak but closed it shut with a click of her teeth. She nodded her head once more just before speaking. 

“Alright, that suffices my knowledge,” Lydia said as she stood up. “For now anyway! But, I think we can call it a day here. Pick back up again tomorrow.” She vaguely waved a hand in the direction of the boxes Göta had been working with earlier. The other woman nodded her head, a smile on her face, obviously pleased to be getting out earlier than expected. Göta bid Lydia farewell as she gathered her things and told her when she’d return. Lydia simply agreed, nodding silently with a smile on her face. She leaned against the edge of her desk, her arms crossed over her chest as she listened to Göta’s footsteps fading out the door and into the main library. The door shut behind the other woman with a _clang_. Lydia’s smile on her face dropped immediately. She stood there with her arms still crossed, her fingers digging into her upper arms as she ran her tongue anxiously along the inside of her mouth and across her teeth. She stared ahead of herself for a few moments, her vision locked on the door in front of her. Quickly, she pulled herself away from the desk and sat in the window sill; fishing her phone out of her pocket, she fumbled with it for a moment before unlocking it. She wasted no time in pulling up the name she was looking for.

_[Lydia]: What's the deal with the face paint?_

She sat bolt upright on the stone window sill, her knee jiggling slightly as she waited for a response. Her phone screen was darkened. Her eyes skittered around, the now, dimly lit room. The floor covered in boxes and then there, by the desk, the painting of the man in green. She glared at it. Her phone buzzed. 

_[Copia]: What face paint?_

Lydia sighed as she got up and walked over to the painting. She pulled up the camera on her phone, held the device up, and got a clear picture of the painting. 

_[Lydia]: This face paint_

She sent the text with the image attached and began to pace back and forth in front of the paintings; all of them lined up in a row in front of her desk. She walked back and forth many times, waiting. Her path was set now, her feet knew the way without her having to look away from her phone while she waited. Keeping the screen glowing away happily. 

_[Copia]: You mean Papa Emeritus the II’s face paint in particular?_

Lydia chuckled as she whispered to herself, her thumbs flying across the keyboard on the screen. “You would be that particular and precise, Copia.” She found herself smiling as she continued to type.

_[Lydia]: No, not his in particular just...all of it. I’ve got these paintings here and they’ve all got this “skull paint” as Göta put it, and I don’t know what it is. I thought you’d know more than Göta would. It’s okay though if you can’t tell me, i get the NDA thing, haha._

She didn’t wait long. The response was rapid fire. 

_[Copia]: Are you in your office now?_

_[Lydia]: Yeah! Are you going to come down?_

_[Copia]: Yes, if that's okay? I imagined it’d be easier._

_[Lydia]: Yeah that's fine! Bring Bernard lol_

_[Copia]: :-)_

She sighed, letting her hand with the phone in it flop to her side. The sound echoed throughout the room for a moment before she turned on her heel and walked back to the desk. She hopped up and sat on it, her legs dangling over the side. Her shoes were kicked off, and they fell to the floor neatly, side by side. She placed her phone down and leaned forward, her palms pressed to the surface of the desk. She drew in a breath through her nose, waiting. She hated waiting. Sitting back up, she ran her hands through her short red hair, shaking it out as she did so. “It’s going to take him 9 million years to get down here,” she said quietly to herself, a smile on her lips as she whispered. For a moment she thought about organizing more boxes or perhaps finishing one of the boxes Göta had already started in on. But as she bit at her bottom lip in contemplation, the door to the office swung open. 

“Hi,” a slightly breathless Copia said as he walked in. Lydia looked up from the boxes she’d been staring at and squinted. Copia was walking towards her quickly, wiping his hands on a blue shop towel. His hair was disheveled, and he was slightly sweaty; his mouth hung open just enough as he walked. Lydia’s eyes bounced from his face to his hands and back again before she spoke. 

“Hello. Why are you dressed like that?” she asked, a bit of laughter in her voice. Copia looked down at himself as though he were unaware of what he had on. 

“Oh, I was working on my car.” He spoke to his shirt as he pointed at it, seemingly noticing the huge oil spots and other stains for the first time. Lydia stared at him in amused disbelief. 

“Are you...wearing...black sweatpants?” She hopped down off the desk and walked over to him, her hands behind her back: a smile on her face. Copia nodded firmly.

“Yes. It sort of looks like what I usually wear but...I won’t ruin dress slacks with oil stains so…” He tilted his head this way and that, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I see!” Lydia said as she wandered over to the paintings. “I didn’t know you had a car. I thought you’d have a driver. It seems like every time I go outside, someone is coming or going and someone else is driving them.” She rolled her eyes as she spoke. Copia huffed out a laugh, folding the blue rag in his hands into a small square and shoving it into his pocket as best it could fit. He ran an errant hand through his hair and let out a breath he’d been holding. His vision now stuck on the paintings lined up by the desk. 

“I, uh...I do have a driver,” he said, glancing back up at Lydia. “I just also like to drive my own car sometimes.” 

“What is it? The car, I mean,” she asked as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her eyes stayed fixed on him. Copia shrugged and glanced up from the paintings, staring almost straight down at Lydia. 

“It’s a…” he waved his hand vaguely in the air for a moment, “well, a car, let's put it that way.” He smiled down at her, and she smiled back without missing a beat.

“Is it a complete heap or just a partial one?” she asked very matter of factly, tucking her hands into her pockets as she waited. Copia looked up and laughed.

“I wouldn’t call it a heap as it _does_ run. But...it’s not... _finished_.” Lydia laughed, her tongue running over her bottom lip quickly. Copia let his arms simply hang by his sides, watching her for a moment that was perhaps too long. 

“I’d like to see it sometime. I do miss driving,” she said quietly, a small smile on her face. 

“Oh yeah, I guess you can’t drive here. I didn’t think about that,” he said as he pointed to her, his vision falling away for a second as he thought. She waved her hand back and forth for a moment, her smile on her face widening. 

“It doesn’t matter, really! I was curious to know about these paintings though.” She gestured to the canvases in front of her, leaning against the back of the desk. Copia nodded, running an idle hand through his hair again. His face was blank, but his vision was stuck on the paintings in front of him. Lydia watched closely as he bit his bottom lip. Finally, he opened his mouth to speak. 

“The face paint is...a right of passage, if that's the right way to put that.” His voice was small, distant, as he spoke.

“So, is it only these head honcho guys who wear it or…” Her voice petered out softly. Copia turned his head to look at her, his brow slightly furrowed. He stared at her for a moment, his mouth a straight line as he thought. Lydia scanned his face. They were standing very close to one another when Copia turned to her and looked her in the eye. 

“You see this?” He pointed to the black grease paint under his eyes. Lydia nodded silently, her eyes focused on the man in front of her. “This is what I chose when I became Auctoritatis of the Cardinals.” His voice was even but rigid. 

“Oh, well, I mean...I don't want to pry but...” Her cheeks flushed pink for only a moment. Copia smiled and rolled his eyes as he spoke.

“You don’t want to pry, but you want to know why I chose this? Yes?” he asked as he looked at her, his right eyebrow raised; his eyes were wide and deadly serious. Suddenly, Lydia realized how close she was standing to him: she could smell the oil and the sweat and whatever else was there that she couldn’t put her finger on and label but knew that it was distinctly him. She took a minute to dumbly swallow. She nodded her head, for once, unsure of what to say. Copia nodded firmly. He looked down at the floor for a moment and drew in a sharp breath. When he looked back up, his eyes were wide and clear. His mouth was a straight line.

“I promise you, I’ll tell you about my face paint one day. But it...it can’t be today.” His words were to the point. He stood there with his hands hanging down by his sides; his hair was disheveled, but he didn't look away from her. He barely blinked.

“Oh, yeah, believe me I get it!” She drew her shoulders up as she spoke, her hands still tucked into her pockets and a smile on her face. “Whenever you want to. I mean, I don’t want to push you or anything.” She spoke quietly. Copia nodded.

“I want to tell you.” His voice was almost a whisper, the slightest, softest blush creeping up the back of his neck as he spoke. “But not today.” His eyes were still locked onto hers. 

“I get it. It’s alright, you’re not offending me or anything. I would...like to know though. Someday.” Lydia’s voice was gentle. Her hands were still in her pockets. Copia couldn't help himself though, and a smile appeared on his face. 

“I would...also...like you to know someday,” he said gently before he looked away from her and pointed to the paintings. He did not notice the warm, pink coloring in Lydia’s cheeks as he looked away down to the paintings lining the front of the desk. “Skull paint, as it is appropriately termed within the church, is a symbol of power. So, whoever is highest on the ladder gets the most skull paint. The Papas, being in charge and being at the top of that social ladder, get full skull paint and not just little bits here and there like the rest of us do.” He chuckled under his breath.

“So, it's a power appearance thing?” she asked. Copia nodded.

“Absolutely it is!” He gestured to the painting of Papa Emeritus the First, “This is a very rare find though. I haven't seen a painting of Papa the First and Lady Léonie for many, many years. I’m sure he’d love to see this.” Copia nodded resolutely. 

“Well, by all means, tell him.” Lydia shrugged, looking down at the painting. “I take it you know him?” Copia nodded firmly.

“Yes, I do. He’s here, actually. On these grounds.” Copia pointed to the floor, indicating this very property. “I could ask him if he wants it. Though…” Copia faltered. Lydia furrowed her brow. 

“What is it?” she asked. Copia shook his head. 

“Lady Léonie died many years ago. Papa Emeritus the First never really…” Copia tilted his head back and forth as he thought. “He never really recovered from that. He never moved on. Whether that was by his own volition or not, well…” Copia shrugged, a slight grimace sliding onto his features. Lydia nodded her head silently. 

“Yeah, I get it. My mom died and my dad was really never the same again.” She gave him a weak smile as she spoke but it was a sad, isolated gesture. Copia nodded, once more running his hand through his hair again, a nervous movement. For a long moment he stood there, gripping his hair at the roots with his hand; his eyes fixed on the paintings in front of him. Finally, he let go of his hair, letting it fall from his fingers. He drew in a breath as he turned to her and stared at her. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t have anything else to tell you about the paintings. There’s really nothing else I can say. But…” He looked around the room for a moment, his eyes scanning the cold shelves and full boxes, finally coming back to Lydia. “I would like to talk about my face paint with you. I would... _hope_...that you’d like to tell me about your mom. But right now I can’t.” He swallowed audibly in that moment. Lydia beamed up at him, laughing slightly to herself. 

“It’s alright! It really is. You don’t need to justify not wanting to talk about something.” She held her hands out as she spoke, a broad smile on her features. “You can just talk about it later. I just wanted to know about the paintings, but if you don't know anything else or you can't say anything else, then so be it for now.” Her voice was warm and soft. Copia smiled at her, but he looked down at his shoes for a moment before speaking. 

“Thank you. Know that I _genuinely_ want to know and talk about that with you, but...my brain doesn’t work that way. I can’t just jump into that. I have to think about it.” He spoke gently but firmly. Lydia nodded.

“I get it. It’s alright.” She shrugged and smiled up at him. “You want to make time to talk about it? After all, I do want to see this car you’re so lovingly working on.” Copia laughed outright at that. 

“If you’d...like to see it...maybe we can take a ride sometime, eh?” His voice had taken on a new quality, and Lydia’s ears had noticed: his voice was smoother, deeper, somehow. She nodded vigorously. 

“Yeah! I want to take a ride in the project car! Is it safe, or will it explode in a fiery inferno killing us both?” she teased as she looked up to the ceiling with faux concern. Copia laughed with a deep resonating sound. 

“No, it won’t explode in a fiery inferno killing us both. I promise.” He bowed as he spoke, the tiniest smile on his face. Lydia crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes narrowing, but a mischievous grin played on her face. 

“Alright, well, I’ll trust you with my life in this one moment then,” Lydia said mischievously, her eyes rolling sarcastically in her head. Copia couldn’t help but to look up at the ceiling for a moment, smiling.

“I am honored.” He bowed his head for a moment, only to look up through one of the large windows and notice that the sun was going down. “Unfortunately, I have to go and clean up what I started in the garage. But let me know whenever you want to take that ride.” He could feel his throat tightening as he spoke, and the color in his cheeks seemed to ramp up for a moment; he could feel every pin and needle in his body firing off for the briefest of moments. 

“I promise I’ll let you know! It should be a nice day, so I’ll check the weather and I’ll text you.” As she spoke she lowered her voice just enough, so that it was barely more than a soft murmur. “And I promise I’ll tell you about my mom, and I promise to listen to you about your face paint.” Copia watched her closely for a moment as he slowly nodded his head. 

“Sounds like a deal,” he said in a hushed voice. “Now, I have to go, much to my regret.” He bowed his head once more, and Lydia waved him off, laughing. He turned on his heel reluctantly and went to walk towards the door. As his hand grasped the handle, a small voice in his head made him turn around—and when he did, he saw Lydia leaning against her desk, her arms crossed over her chest and eyes glued on him. She grinned at him broadly and waved. 

“Thought you were leaving,” she said loudly. Her words echoed around the room. 

“I am.” He sounded more confident than he felt. 

“Then go,” Lydia said, her left eyebrow raised. The corner of her mouth pulled into a smirk. Copia laughed and nodded to her. 

“You want me to leave that badly?” he asked, knowing full well the entire library could hear him speaking with the door hanging open like this. But he didn’t care. Lydia shrugged, the perfect image of mock indifference. 

“Hey, I didn’t say you had to leave. You did.” Now both her eyebrows went up simultaneously, and she was watching him with a fixed, intense stare. He stared right back. 

“Checkmate.” He smiled as he spoke. The words fell out of his mouth as he walked through the doorway, allowing the door to fall shut behind him with a heavy _clang_. He looked straight ahead of himself as he walked through the library. There weren’t many people around at this time of evening—most of them were probably eating dinner, after all. Copia made a quick retreat to the side exit that led down through the yard to the back of the garage. As he walked over the grass in the cool fall evening air, he opened and shut his hand as he walked; clenching his fist and unclenching it as he walked back to the garage where he’d been working on and off all day. He found himself smiling like an idiot. He stopped in his tracks in the driveway, looking straight up at the darkening sky for a heartbeat as he whispered, “I have to install a passenger side seat belt.” He sighed and kept walking into the garage, the white lights pouring over him. 


	17. Murmurs

_Sweden_

_November 3rd, 2017_

_7:19 PM_

Outside was a torrential downpour; rain being whipped into a fury by the wind, trees bending so far it appeared they’d break. The stream, which normally ran gently along its way at the sloping end of the garden, was now a rushing deluge. No one was outside unless they had no choice. 

_[Copia]: Are you inside?_

_[Lydia]: oh yeah the weather is real shit right now lol_

_[Copia]: Very good. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t out in this mess._

_[Lydia]: :3_

Copia furrowed his brow at the last message. A confused smile on his face as he walked into the bathroom. He placed his phone screen down onto the counter top and turned the faucet on. Letting the water run until it was hot, he stood in front of the mirror and stared at himself in it for a long and tense moment. The sound of water rushing out of the old faucet and the buzzing of the dim fluorescent light in the bathroom with the simple, white subway station tiles was deafening—if for only a moment—while Copia lost himself in his own gaze in the glass. He stared at the grease paint on his face, bringing his gloved hand up to pick at it just slightly. He pulled his gloves off, laying them down onto the vanity counter. He wandered back out into his room for a moment, only to pull the cassock over his head and let it fall to the floor, soon followed by his shirt. He walked back into the bathroom and dipped his fingers into the rushing water, now hot. He turned the cold tap on and let them mingle for a moment, then shut the drain, swishing his fingers in the quickly pooling water. He looked back up at himself in the mirror again, noticing everything that was wrong: the persistent pudge, his mismatched eyes, the nose that was _just_ broken enough to appear that way. He broke his vision away for a moment to grab a washcloth from under the sink where they sat in an unfolded, albeit clean, heap in an old metal waste bin. He was pulled out of his usual routine by the insistent buzzing of his phone against the marble counter top; he placed the washcloth down and reached for his phone quickly. 

_[Lydia]: what are you doing? staying inside all night?_

_[Copia]: I don't know yet, granted, I stay inside most nights. I don’t exactly live a party life._

_[Lydia]: you mean to tell me that youre not out there living your best life with all the single “siblings of sin '' i see around the property?_

Copia laughed, running his left hand through his hair for a moment; his teeth sawing into his bottom lip. He could feel the crimson heat in his cheeks, creeping in around the edges. 

_[Copia]: No, I’m not. Once upon a time, maybe. But I’ve always been a very isolated person. I like to be alone. How did you know what they were called?_

_[Lydia]: oh you know, i do my homework ;)_

_[Copia]: Curiosity killed the cat, you know._

_[Lydia]: curiosity merely enlightened the cat, then he hung himself_

_[Copia]: That's very nihilistic of you._

_[Lydia]: ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯_

Copia chuckled to himself, laying his phone back down onto the counter. He reached for the washcloth and tossed it into the water. It sank beneath the surface and sat there while he reached up above him into the cabinet and pulled down a bottle with a solution in it. He shut the mirror, placed the bottle on the counter, and reached into the sink, pulling out the rag and twisting it until a steady stream of water trickled out. With the greatest of care, but with the practiced ease of someone who had been doing this for many years, he opened the bottle and poured its contents onto the rag in his hand. He rubbed at the grease paint under his eyes. With every pass of the solution-soaked rag, the paint swirled into a mess on his skin, only to fade away as the rag made a third and then fourth pass. He dipped the rag into the water to rinse it out, only to pull it from the water, put more of the solution onto it, and repeat the process. 

With every pass, he could hear his phone buzzing against the marble counter, “Hold on, curious one,” he whispered to himself; a smile that he couldn’t help crept onto his face as he worked, listening to his phone buzzing against the marble counter. When he had finally deemed his face clean, he dropped the rag into the water and swirled it around with his hand. He turned the water on and ran the rag under the stream as the residual paint rushed along with the rest of the dirty water down the drain. Then he wiped his face again with the rag, getting any excess. He reached for the faucet and turned it off, draping the rag over the edge of the sink, letting it dry. Finally, he wiped his hands off on the towel hanging up behind him and reached for his phone once more. He scrolled through some emails and other text messages, dismissing them without looking at them, until he came to the one text he was desperately waiting for. 

_[Lydia]: may i ask you a rude personal question?_

_[Copia]: You may._

_[Lydia]: do you really like to be alone or is it a by-product of how you were raised? you dont have to answer that if you dont want to but i was just curious._

He stared directly at the screen, his eyes reading and rereading the sentence in front of him. He sighed, feeling that tugging in his chest as he walked out of the bathroom. He threw his phone onto the bed. Looking around his room, he found a plain, dirty t-shirt laying on top of a pile of dirtier t-shirts. He scrambled into it and walked over to the bed and flopped down onto it gracelessly as he grabbed for his phone once more. He stared at the screen, his thumbs hovering over the keyboard. Vaguely, he found himself wondering if answering truthfully was a bad idea. _Won’t know unless I do,_ he thought to himself. 

_[Copia]: In truth, I like to be alone because if I’m alone then no one will bother me. But I genuinely like to be alone for the most part, it means I can do what I want, when I want to._

_[Lydia]: not beholden to anybody?_

_[Copia]: Correct._

_[Lydia]: thats understandable, i like to do my own thing and not be bothered by others. I was just curious if it was a left over of your youth or if you preferred that._

_[Copia]: Oh, no, don’t mistake me. It most certainly is a left over of my youth, I was alone most of the time growing up. So now I guess I’m just used to it._

He pressed his lips together, his vision glued to his phone screen. He scratched at his lower stomach; his t-shirt riding up as he did so, exposing his pale skin dusted with a trail of dark hair. He dipped his fingers inside the waistband of his pants. He stared at the television in front of him and sighed, his left hand sliding out of the waistband and his right coming down to unbuckle his belt. He grunted awkwardly as he slid his pants off and let them tumble to the floor into a heap. He had a lazy smile on his face as he laid in his bed with just his t-shirt on and underwear: content. 

Not too terribly far away, Lydia was laying on her makeshift bed she’d constructed on the couch in her office. She leaned back against the pillows that she’d _quietly_ _borrowed_ from the laundry room (when no one was looking of course). She worried at the tip of her thumb with her front teeth, her eyes glued to the phone screen in front of her. For a moment, she looked out the window at the rain splashing against the glass in sharp, torrential sheets. 

_[Lydia]: yeah i grew up an only child, so i get that._

_[Copia]: I was also an only child, but in a sea of many other children, I didn’t get noticed a lot though. I had no parents or anything to look out for me. So I just...existed._

Lydia drew in a sharp breath as she read. She found herself completely enraptured with everything he said. She felt like she was on pins and needles, and admittedly, she hadn’t felt that way about anyone in a long time. “It’s like one of those awful high school crushes!” she whispered harshly to herself as she began to type a response.

_[Lydia]: i was raised by both my parents but my mom died in a car accident. my dad and i locked horns badly when i got older :\_

_[Copia]: I’m sorry, that sounds unbearable. I suppose a pro of being alone is that I didn’t really have to listen to anyone and no one really ever told me what to do. Yes, I know right from wrong and all of that, but at the end of the day I didn’t have any personality overlaps with anyone to the point that we argued._

_[Lydia]: do you have any photos and things from when you were little? i imagine growing up in an orphanage type system that you may not have some but i was just curious. sorry if thats rude :(_

Copia smiled, running his left hand through his hair again, this time gripping it at the roots. Bernard the rat slept onward soundly beside him as Copia began the arduous task of digging through his phone looking for what he wasn’t sure. 

_[Copia]: I have some photos. I have these from when I was an intermediate in the Uninitiated, I was probably 12 here._

_[Lydia]: OH! THATS YOU?? LOOK AT THAT SHIT EATING GRIN YOU HAVE ON YOUR FACE_

_[Copia]: I don’t know what that means but I’ll take it as a compliment._

_[Lydia]: LOL no no, like you have a really broad and genuine smile on your face, thats all it means. its not in jest, promise :3_

_[Copia]: I had no intention of thinking it was, I assure you. What is that colon and the three for though?_

_[Lydia]: ITS A FACE!!! its eyes and then a mouth._

_[Copia]: Okay, I’ve just never seen it before. Why is the mouth a three though, that seems a strange way to hold one's mouth._

_[Lydia]: lol yeah idk what the deal with that is but it is my preferred emoticon_

“I have no idea what that means. What in the world is an emoticon?” Copia said quietly to himself, a tint of laughter to his voice. His fingers hesitated over the keyboard, “I don’t want to be creepy though.” He whispered to himself as he typed, a grimace beginning to find its way across his face. 

_[Copia]: I imagine you don’t have any photos of you from years past on your phone. But if you do I’d like to see them._

He laid his phone down on his chest, drumming his fingers on the back of it. He looked out the window, watching the way the rain fell. Idly, he wondered what he was doing and why he was doing it. But he didn’t have much time to ponder that thought. 

_[Lydia]: these are from when i was in undergrad, my dad and i went to Yellowstone and we saw buffalo lol_

_[Copia]: Those things are huge. I’ve never seen one that close up though._

_[Lydia]: oh yeah i guess you all dont have them here. i keep forgetting we dont have the same fauna lol_

_[Copia]: Your hair was much longer then._

_[Lydia]: yeah! i had really long hair for a long time and then one day i just cut it all off and never looked back lol_

_[Copia]: Long hair is nice but short hair is nicer._

Lydia felt her cheeks flush as she read the words on the screen. Copia fidgeted nervously while he waited. 

_[Lydia]: why is short hair nicer?_

_[Copia]: It’s just nicer to run fingers through it._

Copia swallowed audibly as he hit send. Lydia bit her bottom lip as she whispered to herself under her breath, “I’d love for you to do that.” She wiggled herself down against the pillows behind her back. She let her mind drift back to the other day, when Copia had stood in front of her in sweatpants and an oil stained t-shirt. His face was flushed and his hair was slick with sweat; he’d walked into her office breathlessly, as if he’d run all the way there from wherever he’d been. She bit her bottom lip. Sighing to herself as she drew her knees up and replied. 

_[Lydia]: lol thats a fair reason to prefer one over the other_

_[Copia]: Do you have a preference?_

_[Lydia]: nah, i like long hair but i also like short hair, it really depends on the person i think_

_[Copia]: Yes, it's not about any one physical thing in particular but what they say and who they are._

_[Lydia]: yea i cant get into someone unless i know them lol_

_[Copia]: May I ask a rude personal question now?_

_[Lydia]: go for it_

_[Copia]: Is there someone in your life that's of great importance?_

_[Lydia]: you mean, do i have a romantic partner or anything?_

_[Copia]: Yes._

_[Lydia]: nah, not anymore anyway lol, havent for a long time though_

Copia nodded as though Lydia was right in front of him speaking and that he needed her to know he was listening. He felt that same optimistic flame burning in his gut. The same one that had burned all those years ago; albeit, for someone else. He began to reply to her with one hand, typing with his thumb. While his other hand, unbeknownst to him, began to rub back and forth along the soft dark haired trail that went down past the waistband of his underwear. 

_[Copia]: You don’t have to say anything or talk about it if you don’t want to. I was merely curious._

_[Lydia]: no offense, cardinal copia, but men dont ask for mere curiosity (•◡•)_

_[Copia]: You do raise a critical point._

_[Lydia]: story of my life_

Copia laughed, and despite himself, whispered quietly, “She’s right.” His left hand was now inside the waistband to his underwear, holding onto himself reassuringly; squeezing every so often. He could feel his temperature rising as his grip tightened and then loosened. His tongue was running over his teeth as he thought of a reply. 

_[Copia]: I won’t press you about it. If you want to tell me, you are welcome to do so._

_[Lydia]: thank you, i appreciate that :)_

She rolled her head back against the pillows, her eyes closed and a languid smile on her face. “He can’t be real: he’s too respectful!” she said out loud to no one but laughed at her own joke. She scrunched up into a ball, her knees pressed together tightly. She bit her bottom lip, staring at her phone she could feel a familiar warmth between her legs. She smirked to herself, letting her legs relax and her hand to slide down into her sweatpants. Her teeth latched onto her lip as her hand made a familiar journey. 

_[Copia]: Don’t worry about it, you can tell me one day, if you so desire._

_[Lydia]: im keeping a tally of all the things i have to tell you lol_

_[Copia]: I suppose I should do the same_

_[Lydia]: i was going to bombard you with them all when we’re trapped in the car together :3_

_[Copia]: I see, so you have a plan of attack._

_[Lydia]: i always do_

Copia smiled as he read the exchange. He adjusted in his spot. His eyes bounced around the room for a minute, landing on his own hand leisurely tugging at himself as he laid there. He rolled his eyes at himself, but he couldn't stop his hand, and he found himself grunting disapprovingly at his own actions. “I shouldn’t,” he said under his breath, but he continued to tug gently as he replied. 

_[Copia]: That reminds me, when did you want to take that car ride?_

_[Lydia]: whenever you want! i am your guest and so therefore it is up to you to pick a time that works best for you_

_[Copia]: Putting that on me, eh? Alright, what about next Saturday?_

_[Lydia]: sure what time? where do you want me to meet you?_

_[Copia]: How about noon and then we can eat lunch. I can come get you, if you’d like._

_[Lydia]: noooo! i dont want to ask you to go down into that gross basement where i live lol. i can just meet you somewhere!_

_[Copia]: I thought you were living in your office now?_

Lydia smiled a broad, warm grin; her cheeks flushing pink. “He doesn’t miss a trick, does he?” she whispered to herself again, her right thumb typing away at a response while her left gently rubbed circles between her legs. She sighed, and it sounded more like relief than anything else; her mouth falling open as she stared at her phone with a dreamy expression. 

_[Lydia]: yeah i mean, i am, but thats neither here nor there. my point is you dont have to walk me anywhere, i can meet you there :3_

_[Copia]: If you so wish, you may meet me at the garage then. You know where it is. We can leave here at noon._

_[Lydia]: yessss i am looking forward to it. i want to see your project car! i just hope it runs and doesnt explode, killing me instantly lol_

Copia chuckled as he read. Idly, his left hand ran up and down his length in his underwear; the movement was still languid and slow, nothing more than a tease on the periphery of his senses. His breath caught in his throat for a moment as his hand found a particularly sensitive spot. His fingers danced over that for only a brief moment as his head rolled back against the pillows, only for him to sit back up and reply with his thumb, his other hand still distractedly running up and down on himself. 

_[Copia]: You won’t die instantly. You won’t die at all, actually. It does run, it’s just old. Promise._

_[Lydia]: im just teasing you anyway, i know you wouldnt endanger me or anything, so if it wasnt safe you wouldnt offer._

_[Copia]: That’s very trusting of you._

_[Lydia]: yeah sometimes i have these moments of weakness_

“Maybe I just have a weakness for you,” she whispered to herself, her hand in her sweatpants picking up speed ever so slightly; moving round and round in small, lazy circles. Her hips pushing up just enough. Only to come back down flush on the couch she was laying on. She knew she was playing a game with herself, only doing this when she waited for him to reply. She knew this might be a dangerous game, with an outcome she wouldn’t like. But in this moment, it didn't matter: all logic was cast aside. 

_[Copia]: Well I am flattered, and honored, you trust me with your life in my old beat up rusting car._

_[Lydia]: when did you get into it? i mean, fixing up a car is not something i see a lot of uh….career religious people get into, no offense, lol_

_[Copia]: Years ago, it’s actually a long story._

_[Lydia]: too much to type? ill remember to ask you later when youre trapped in the car with me_

_[Copia]: Trapped? No, not with you._

_[Lydia]: is that your way of flirting, cardinal copia?_

_[Copia]: If telling the truth is flirting then so be it._

Everything was electric feeling as he sent that message; the fingers of his left hand wrapped securely around himself, moving up and down to a rhythm he could never explain to someone else, even if he tried. He stretched his legs out as his hand moved, up and down, up and down; going from a soft, slow pace to a faster, more intense beat, only to slip back to a more relaxed grip. His phone now lay clutched in his right hand, waiting for that telltale buzz. His breathing was beginning to pick up, and he couldn’t seem to stop his hips from stuttering up and down with the motion of his hand, chasing that delicious friction. His eyes rolled back in his head, and his mouth was beginning to fall open just as he felt his phone buzzing in his hand. And with that, he stopped altogether, bringing his phone up to his face and squinting at the screen. 

_[Lydia]: if thats how you flirt then thats gucci with me, boss_

_[Copia]: What does that say?_

_[Lydia]: LOL just means im fine with that. then i called you boss. you are so internet illiterate, its adorable._

_[Copia]: I haven’t heard it described quite that way before, but I’ll take ‘adorable’ over anything else any day. This is the second time you’ve called me ‘boss’, why?_

_[Lydia]: do you not want me to?_

_[Copia]: No, I don’t mind. I was just curious._

_[Lydia]: well youre sort of my boss, arent you?_

_[Copia]: Not really, I thought Signe Rask or perhaps the Overseer was your boss._

_[Lydia]: idk who the overseer is, never met him anyway, and signe rask is never around. actually youre the only one who is around lol_

She let go of her phone just as she finished typing, and it fell to the couch. Her mouth simply hung open, and her eyes were heavily lidded as she waited for a reply. Her hand moved quicker now, in tight, centric movements; her hips moved up and down to her own preferred rhythm. She sighed, rolling her head back onto the pillows behind her, her eyes closed now and a slack-jawed expression on her face. She could feel that familiar, tight coil creeping up on her, and somehow, she found her fingers moving faster. Her hips began to move of their own accord just as the telltale buzzing from her phone interrupted her. She laughed, closing her legs around her hand. She reached for her phone with the other hand and pulled up the text message, a mischievous smile on her face. 

_[Copia]: I’m sorry I couldn’t get the Overseer to speak to you. But I have seen that writing before, in many places. I do think it’s some kind of code, though I do not know what it says._

His hand moved up and down his length with rapid speed but with a technique only he knew. He held onto his phone and stared at the screen with a narrowed, concentrated gaze. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, pushing his hips up again to meet his hand. 

_[Lydia]: its alright, im sure we can find it when we break the law and go into the church members only section._

_[Copia]: We’re not breaking the law. And it's the Clergy Only section._

_[Lydia]: oh yeah right clergy only section. but we are breaking the law cause im not a member of the church! lol_

Her hand moved on its own: faster, circles turning into back and forth movements, her head falling backwards again against the pillows. Her breathing was shallow, and her neck and face were flush. Her left hand coasted up her form and groped at her own breast. Just as she felt that same telltale pressure in her abdomen, her phone buzzed. She gave a sigh that sounded more like a laugh as she clamped her legs shut on her hand again, feeling the beat of her heart through her fingertips from her most intimate regions. Her other hand held up her phone, propping it up on her stomach so she could see it. 

_[Copia]: As long as you’re with me, you’re not breaking the law. In that moment you’re my guest._

_[Lydia]: alright, if you say so, boss_

_[Copia]: I do._

His responses were shorter and less articulate as he went. He cast the phone aside, his teeth digging into his bottom lip; his rapidly moving hand went in time to the beat in his head, twisting his wrist here and there; his fingers gripping tighter at certain sweet spots that only he knew about. He was panting now that the familiar, and very present, rushing feeling was rising up inside of him. His breathing was ragged and his hand was moving wilder, more urgently; desperate. He was whispering something to himself with his head thrown backwards against the pillows, but it was unintelligible and garbled, just as he went tumbling over the edge on the other side. He kept moving his hand up and down, groaning his delightful approval as his everything spilled out over his own hand, hot and viscous, and right onto his stomach. He felt his phone buzzing next to him on the bed, but for a moment, he just sat there catching his breath and opening his eyes wide, trying to bring himself back from the brink. 

_[Lydia]: well then its settled. im your guest and were not breaking any rules even though that would be fine by me if we did._

_[Copia]: Haha, I’m sure we can find other ways to break rules, if you’d like._

_[Lydia]: i would love to break some rules with you :3_

She threw her phone down quickly onto the couch, not interested in prolonging her own torture anymore. A sly grin on her face as her hand between her legs moved quickly. She kept moving her fingers in a loose circle, moving faster and faster. Her hips coming up off of the couch at an irregular pace as she got closer to that same swirling heat she’d known, seemingly, her whole life. The tiniest sounds kept gushing from her mouth without her permission. Her toes curled, her fingers of her free hand dug into the couch and her breathing was staggered. Her back arched up away from the couch, almost against her will, when finally she let out a deep groan. Her eyes closed and her mouth hung open as her hand’s circular movement came to a shuddering halt. She pulled her hand away and sat there against the pillows, looking boneless as her breathing returned to normal. “That was very unexpected,” she whispered out loud to herself just as she felt her phone buzz beside her. 

_[Copia]: I’m sure I can think up some rules to break, if that would please you._

_[Lydia]: lol im mostly joking. mostly._

_[Copia]: I see! I’ll keep that mostly in mind then._

She stared at her phone, not for the last time that evening. And just as she did, she whispered to herself, “Oh, he’s clever, and I _like_ him.” She watched his messages popping up one after the other quickly, and she replied to him quickly. She leaned back against the pillows, snuggling down under the blanket as they kept texting back and forth throughout the night. Soon the hours began to disappear into the night. The messages went back and forth without any space or anxious energy between them, and before either of them realized it, the sun was coming up over the horizon and filtering in through the warbled ancient glass windows. 


	18. The Oyster Knife and the Tapestry

_Sweden_

_November 6th, 2017_

_9:03 PM_

“Why are you moving all of those boxes?” Lydia asked as she pulled her sweatshirt over her head. The cloth bunched up and got caught on her glasses, and she struggled momentarily. She reached up and readjusted her glasses as her head emerged from the fabric. She looked over at Copia and watched him work, biting her bottom lip without giving it a second thought. Her gaze clung to his bare arms in his white t-shirt as he moved the last box with his foot, pushing it away from him as he inspected the bookcase the boxes had been hiding. It was a very old thing: falling apart, disused. Its shelves were falling in on itself, and it certainly wasn’t fit for storing anything. 

“I needed to get to this thing.” His voice was plain and very matter-of-fact as he looked the shelf up and down. He spoke to her over his shoulder.

“That thing looks like shit. I can’t even use it. That's why I put all the boxes in front of it.” Lydia walked up to him as she spoke. Copia nodded, humming as proof that he was listening. He was moving the shelf this way and that way with his hands, his eyes watching it sway slightly as he teetered it back and forth. His mouth hung open as he worked. Lydia squinted at him, the slightest smile on her face. She stood silently and watched him mutter to himself as he pulled the bookcase onto an angle and dragged it away from the wall just enough for them to squeeze behind it. Lydia put her hands in the pouch of her sweatshirt. Copia took a step back and gestured with his hands, holding them out towards the dark tunnel hidden behind the shelf. 

“Ta-da,” Copia said with no inflection in his voice and his hand outstretched casually. Lydia laughed. 

“I never knew that was back there.” She walked up to it and peered inside for a moment: it was dark and the sound of water dripping somewhere was not too far off. “How did you know this was back there?” Copia shrugged as he grabbed his cell phone and turned the flashlight on.

“I’ve lived here my whole life, remember?” he teased playfully as he pulled his phone from his pocket and shifted it around, the flashlight bouncing around the room. He wiggled his eyebrows as he spoke, his eyes wide and a smile on his face. His hand holding the phone flopped to his side as he continued. “There used to be an even older, unused shelf here, but it was shorter and lighter and when I was younger I could _just_ scoot behind it. This one though…” he gestured to it with a nod of his head, “this one’s only been here a couple years, maybe.” Lydia nodded her head as she listened. She pulled away from the hole in the stone wall and turned back to him.

“It certainly was in terrible condition. How’d you find this tunnel originally?” she wondered. Copia’s eyes widened, and he stared off into space for a moment as he thought. He was perfectly still, then he suddenly let go of a breath he’d been holding. 

“I was...young. I was bored I guess. I don’t really remember _how_ I found it, really.” His gaze flicked to her face then. The blank expression he’d held while he spoke was gone and replaced by a lazy, warm smile. 

“It’s alright, I was just curious!” she said. Copia smirked.

“You’re always curious.” His voice was a low, throaty whisper as he walked past her, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. They both knew he was right, and Lydia couldn’t help the blush that crept up her neck as he said that. He jerked his head toward the tunnel. “Come on.” He held his arm out toward the entrance. “After you.” Lydia snorted laughter.

“Oh, thank you, kind sir. I love entering damp and dark crevices in buildings where no one has tread for ten thousand years.” She heard Copia laugh behind her, his head rolling back as he did so. 

“I _really_ feel like ten thousand years is a bit too much,” he said as they began to walk through the tunnel, stepping over piles of bricks and stones that had fallen over the years. The sound of Copia’s sneakers splashing into puddles echoed off the interior stone walls. “Look out, there's a step up in front of you,” he warned as he pointed the flashlight over top and in front of her.

“Good thing I’m shorter than you,” she said quietly as she pointed to the flashlight on his phone and stepped up onto a level of laid stones that had been pushed up after years of neglect. Copia chuckled as he followed her closely. They walked in relative silence, save for the sounds of their shoes on the ancient stones and dirty puddles that had accumulated over the years. It didn’t take long, but eventually, there was an exit: a patch of bleary light could be seen through a tight break between two large bookcases. 

“Wait a minute,” Copia said as he held Lydia back by the hood of her sweatshirt. She stopped walking and waited. Copia walked up to the narrow passage between the shelves and peered into it. “It seems that this has gotten smaller somehow.” His words were hushed as he spoke, almost a murmur to himself. Lydia walked up to him and passed him as she tutted him. 

“Perhaps you simply got too big,” she teased as she slipped easily through the crevice in the stone wall and into the anterior room. It was mostly darkened, but there were a few candles burning in sconces, and for a moment, Lydia found herself wondering who tended to them. She was interrupted in her reverie by Copia, who laughed with a deep resonating sound at her comment. He turned the flashlight off on his phone and slipped it into the pocket of his sweatpants. He drew in a deep breath and sighed as he stepped through the crevice, only to get stuck for a fraction of a moment. Lydia held her hand out to him. “You want me to pull you?” Copia grunted his disapproval as he pushed himself through the crevice and into the room, nearly falling onto Lydia in the process. 

“Sorry,” he whispered, his cheeks burning for a fraction of a moment. Lydia simply laughed. “Alright, now that I’ve almost crushed you to death-” Lydia cut him off with a dry chuckle.

“I don’t think you can crush me to death, boss.” Her voice was soft and small, but even in the dark Copia could see a smile spread across her features. He rolled his eyes, smiling as he continued with what he was going to say. “We are officially in the Clergy Only section of the library now.” He cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks turning red as he looked down directly at Lydia’s smiling face. Never before had he been so glad for the cover of darkness. Too late he realized how warm and close she was before she pulled away and fished her own phone out of her pocket. She turned on the flashlight to the lowest setting and gestured for him to follow her.

“So, I’m officially allowed to be here since you’re with me?” she asked as she walked ahead of him, but just slightly. He was busy brushing dust and dirt off of him as he walked. 

“Yes, I am a member of the Clergy, and you are my guest, as previously discussed. Doesn’t really matter how we got in here at this point.” He said everything in hushed whispers. Lydia nodded and walked forward. The flashlight on her phone lit up book after book after book, and the shelves seemed to go on forever. She walked as silently as she could, feeling as though whatever reticence was draped over this place certainly did not relish being disturbed. Copia was talking to himself as they walked, muttering under his breath and looking at books and scrolls that were tucked behind the books in some cases. Lydia came to the end of the row and stepped out into the main walkway that led from the locked door to the back of the room. The floors in this room were not grand: they were hardwood and in poor condition, as though this entire portion of the library was not made for visitors in the slightest. She walked down the hallway, her feet falling from heel to toe, her shoes crunching down onto a runner carpet that ran the length of the room. It wasn’t an overly large room though: artlessly over crowded with shelves. She stood in the middle of the hallway and pointed her flash light to the end of the walkway where, along the back wall, there stood filing cabinets lining the entire back wall. All of them were hardwood and four drawers high, each of them fitted with, what appeared to be, custom locks. Lydia began to walk towards them, trying to see the piles of books that were placed on top. In the dark it was a challenge to see them without being closer. Copia walked up behind her.

“Ah, I see I cannot keep you away from the goodies,” he noted, standing behind her. 

“Is this the jackpot here?” Lydia inquired. Copia nodded as she spoke.

“Oh yes, I’m sure there's lots of stuff in there that you’d love to see,” he said as he walked past her and began to point the flashlight around the books that were piled on top of the files. “Granted, I also would like to see it.” 

“Yeah, I was about to say,” she gave a lite chuckle as she walked along behind him, looking at the spines and covers of the books, “I can barely read these!” she whispered harshly. 

“I know; some of the writing is worn off completely.” He rubbed at one book with his thumb as gently as he could, making a hissing noise. Lydia’s neck cracked as she turned her head to look at him.

“Don’t fuck it up more!” She suppressed a laugh as she batted his hand away from the book. 

“I didn’t think I could,” he replied sheepishly, running a nervous hand through his hair. Lydia rolled her eyes, laughing as she did so. 

“Well, if anyone catches us, I’m going to tell them you broke the book.” Copia stopped what he was doing and looked up at her in the dark. Even in the dim lighting she could see the straight line on his face, but it was everything she could do not to laugh.

“That's fine,” he said finally, turning back to the books with a grin on his face. “I’ll gladly take the blame. If I told them you did it, well...” He tilted his head this way and that and sighed. Lydia stopped laughing, but had a smile on her face. 

“Or what? They’ll fire me?” She turned on her heel as she spoke, a smirk on her lips. She walked away down the hall and along the wall lined with filing cabinets. He didn’t answer her. She kept walking, stopping every so often to try and pull open a drawer. For the first time, he noticed the way she walked: the way her feet stepped down from heel to toe, the way her hips moved when she took a step. He knew it was rude; nevertheless, he couldn’t help but stare, and he found himself with a dumb smile plastered on his face, his eyes following her every move. 

“How come these are locked?” she asked, pulling on the drawer of one of the filing cabinets.

“I imagine it's because there’s classified or personal information stored in there.” He shrugged. Lydia nodded her head silently, her vision glued on the filing cabinet in front of her. She shuffled down the tight corridor to the next filing cabinet. 

“Come here, look, this has that weird writing on it!” She pointed to a hand written piece of paper placed carefully into the slot on the front. Copia walked over and squatted down, peering at the name on the cabinet. He stared for a long moment before he inhaled sharply and stood up and began to fish around in his pocket. Lydia watched him from her still squatted position on the ground. She said nothing; watching him intently. Copia finally pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket; he was muttering to himself, his brow knotted in thought. Lydia watched him silently, loving the way he lost himself in his thoughts, surely not for the last time. 

“Aha! Found you,” he said as he pulled a suspiciously flat looking key off of the key ring. It had no teeth and seemed to be wider than a standard key; stronger somehow. The metal was thicker at the base, as though it were used to pry something open or cut something very thick. 

“What's that?” Lydia asked as she stood up, trying to see it better. Copia held it up for her to see it in the darkness. 

“It’s technically nothing. I made it in the shop once. I didn’t want to carry anything around with me that could be seen as a weapon. It’s kind of like-” 

“An oyster knife,” Lydia said as she cut him off, a small smile on her face. Copia smiled back at her, watching her from the corner of his vision. 

“Yes, it's kind of like that, you could say. How did you know that?” he wondered. 

“I’m from Virginia. We have a lot of seafood.” She winked at him, a sly grin on her face. Copia gave a genuine laugh as he pulled the tool around the ring it was attached to with the rest of his keys. He gestured with a tilt of his head to the cabinet in question, and Lydia moved aside, her hands tucked neatly behind her back as she waited. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice a curious whisper. 

“I am opening this drawer,” Copia said matter-of-factly, sliding the tool into the groove between the drawer and the case of the cabinet. He moved it back and forth, looking for the latch just inside the antique mechanism. 

“Are you breaking the law?!” Lydia asked excitedly, leaning closer to get a better view as the distinct sound of a metallic _pop_ could be heard and the drawer slid open slowly. Copia chuckled with a deep dark sound. 

“Of course not. I’m simply opening this drawer, and wouldn’t you know it, I forgot the keys.” He wiggled his eyebrows as he spoke, and it was everything Lydia could do not to laugh herself silly. Copia stepped aside and let Lydia rifle through the drawer. The minutes passed by. The only sound was Lydia’s nimble, small fingers flying across file after file. Occasionally pulling one out and flipping it open, looking inside for a moment, only to put it back after muttering to herself with unintelligible words that Copia couldn’t make out. He watched her for probably too long and too intensely, but he didn’t care; not now, not in this dimly lit room. 

“What...is all this? What are these ‘bond servants?’” Lydia inquired as she turned to Copia, file clasped tightly in her hand, holding it out to him so he could see it. He took it from her and scanned the document.

“This is from 1916.” Copia turned the file over and over in his hands, noticing the way the paper creaked and cracked as it jostled in the file it was stapled to. “This is ancient. I’m surprised this hasn't fallen apart.” His voice was low as he continued to flip through the file, running his finger down the text gently, reading as he went. His eyes scanned the parchment, his lips moving gently as he read to himself. 

“So, why are they guarded under lock and key here? And why was the cabinet labeled with that same creepy scrawl?” Lydia asked, folding her arms over her chest. Copia sighed, tilting his head as he closed the file and handed it back to Lydia. 

“The bond servants were a…” he paused, choosing his words carefully, “a very dark and...shameful...practice the church engaged in for a long time.” The silence of the room seemed to become heavier, the darkness seemed to encroach a little more as he spoke, and it was everything Lydia could do not to ask to leave. Glancing around silently as she listened to Copia talk—she could swear they were being watched. The feeling sent goosebumps up her form, though, she’d never admit to that and instead hugged her arms to herself just a little tighter. 

“What was it?” Her voice was soft as she asked, her lips parted just enough that Copia could see her perfectly white teeth. He shook his head as he began to speak. 

“I don’t know a lot about it, truth be told. But...I do know it was a practice that was disbanded in the late 1970s. I want to say 1976 or 1977?” He looked up at the ceiling as he spoke, thinking.

“Why?” she asked. Copia looked back down at her, blinking. 

“Oh, uh...Papa Emeritus the Second disbanded the practice. He outlawed it, essentially. Said it was akin to slavery and that it was unethical and, frankly, he was right.” Copia shrugged, giving a soft laugh.

“How was it akin to slavery though? I thought people just joined if they wanted to, or...well...I mean-” Her cheeks flushed pink, and even in the darkened room, Copia could see that flush of embarrassment on her face. 

“Yes, some people are….orphaned here.” He smiled at her. “But the church also has a history of, well...accepting some people not as Uninitiated but as, what is essentially, permanent indentured servitude.” His voice became lower and quieter, and somehow, the silence of the room seemed to envelope them entirely. Lydia’s gaze bounced between the filing cabinet and Copia. She squinted at the files, all of them ancient and brittle, nestled safely away in the cherry filing cabinets. 

“The church bought them, didn’t they? Like chattel.” Lydia spoke as she ran her finger tips over the tops of all the files in that one drawer. 

“Yes. They did.” He nodded as he spoke, his eyes downcast to the floor. “But, it’s done now.” Lydia shook her head, a soft smile on her face. 

“No, things like that take a long time to be done, you know?” Her eyes flashed as she spoke—even in the dark—and Copia found himself swallowing audibly as he nodded along. “As long as someone remembers first hand, well, that's still a living, waking memory, and it will still affect the world around it for a long time. Things like that don't just go away, though I am glad to know it was outlawed.” She smiled up at him as she pulled her hands behind her back, tightly clamping her left wrist with her right hand as she did so. Copia didn’t say anything for a long moment. The room was silent. It wasn’t tense; just very still. 

“I am also glad it was outlawed. It's something I did not relish learning about, and I surely don’t like imagining living that way—let alone knowing you placed another human being in bondage like that, no.” He rolled his shoulders as he spoke, as though the entire thing was uncomfortable to him on every level. Lydia shut the filing cabinet with a swift push of her hand. In the quiet room, the echo was resounding, and Lydia again felt as though they were being watched. She narrowed her eyes as she took a step towards Copia who was still holding the file from earlier. She opened her mouth to say something but stopped, her hands held out in front of her as she stared at the ground, obviously thinking for a minute before she looked up at him sharply. 

“I cannot begin to understand how you grew up here,” she laughed; it was almost anxious. Copia smiled. 

“I cannot begin to understand how one grows up anywhere else.” He shrugged slightly as he spoke. Lydia nodded her head silently, her hands now folded in front of her, clasped together. She was quiet, and Copia noticed. He took a step slightly towards her, and she looked up sharply and flashed a warm smile at him. “Even in the dark, I can see those perfectly white teeth,” he said gently, almost a forbidden whisper followed by a soft huff of a laugh. Lydia smiled, this time pressing her lips together; her cheeks turning the slightly crimson. 

“Yeah, my Dad had me get braces, and I got my teeth whitened, and it was all a waste of time because one day they’re all going to fall out, so who cares you know?” She shrugged, her eyes going wide as she spoke; the slightest smile on her face. 

“It's definitely an American trait. I spotted that the minute I met you, actually,” he said, now gesturing back the way they came. Lydia walked just a bit in front of him, but never straying far; they both walked close together. She looked to her left and noticed his profile; how sharp his nose was, and she found herself thinking how much she liked that. Just as they walked past the last row of towering shelves, something caught her eye just beyond Copia. Down, past him and nestled very far back between two huge shelves was a tapestry of some kind. It caught her eye immediately, its colors were strikingly dark, as though they were magicked somehow to catch your eye in the dim light. Copia continued to walk, but Lydia slowed her steps and stared. Finally, Copia stopped and turned. 

“Is that...the goat from the _Great He-Goat_? From the painting?” Her voice was soft as she spoke, her eyes sliding over to Copia then, fixing him with her unblinking stare. 

“Yes, it would appear so. Someone probably made a tapestry of just His image instead of the whole thing. The Witches Sabbath, I think it is?” He said everything clear and concise, as though this was all something Lydia should have known long prior to this conversation. 

“Why would you all have that here though?” she asked as she turned, looking directly up at him. Copia furrowed his brow, his eyes bouncing around the room for a moment. His voice was low as he spoke. 

“Did they...tell you...what this was a church _for_?” Copia narrowed his eyes, waiting. Lydia felt her mouth go dry. Her hands started to wring together, but she kept her composure. 

“No. They just said it was a Swedish church. I thought maybe...something Norse, but...I didn’t know—and I don’t know, really—what this is all about.” She gave him a weak smile but turned her eyes to the tapestry at the end of the aisle, staring at it as though any moment it would come alive. 

“Come on, let's get out of here.” He gestured down the hall, the way they’d come in. Lydia simply nodded silently and walked along after him, sticking closer than she had been earlier. As they walked back through the short, crumbling tunnel in the wall, Lydia wasn’t nearly as outspoken as she was before, and her silence was deafening. Copia found his mind racing, his thoughts constant and rushing in one after the other, the next worse then the one before it: _what if she wants to leave? I shouldn’t have taken her in there, she’s seen too much. Now she knows! She’ll probably leave after this. I know how America is._ He walked with his vision fixed on the floor beneath him. Upon arriving back where they’d started, Copia pushed the bookshelf back in front of the gateway in the stone and began to pile the boxes back up in front of it. He looked over his shoulder every so often, noticing Lydia was standing by, albeit muted, her gaze disappearing out the window. “Are, uh...are you alright?” he asked, his voice was soft, yielding. 

“Yeah, I’m alright.” She turned to look at him then, that same warm smile on her face, but it was different somehow. He began to walk over to her, one step at a time. His sneakers didn’t make any noise as they touched down onto the marble floors. 

“It’s okay if you’re not, you know.” His voice was soft as he drew closer. Lydia sighed, but she smiled up at him all the same. 

“I really am okay, Copia. I just...I wasn’t expecting that, I guess. I should have known though, how cagey everyone was being. It makes sense now, looking back on it.” She gave a huff of a laugh, her arms folded over her chest as she took a few steps back and leaned against the edge of her desk. He walked over to her and gestured to the desk, and Lydia scooted over, allowing him to sit next to her. She could feel how warm he was the minute he sat down. 

“I, uh...I would understand you know,” he held his hands out as he spoke, gesturing to what he didn’t rightly know, “I would understand if you...wanted to go home after...this.” He looked directly at her, his mismatched eyes unblinking in the dimly lit room. Deep down inside, he didn’t want that; he knew he didn’t. It was the last thing he wanted, in fact. But Lydia turned to him, a sly smile on her face, her eyes narrowed as she thought. 

“Why would I go home?” Her voice was clear and precise. Copia thought for a moment, unsure of how to answer. 

“I figured, uh….a satanic church might not...be….something you’d want to work for.” He shrugged, his head tilting this way and that as he spoke. Lydia shrugged, a smile still on her face. 

“Actually, it doesn't bother me. I’m an atheist, but....if that's what gets the people here through the night, then so be it.” She laughed as she elbowed him in the side. “I do want to thank you for taking me, illegally, into the secret church library though.” She smiled at him again, this time he noticed how close she was to him and the urge to put his arm around her was very real and pressing. But he simply clenched his fists together in his lap and smiled back, feeling that familiar creep of heated embarrassment in his neck and cheeks and thanking whatever would listen that the room was too dark for her to see. 

“Why do you want to be a criminal so badly?” They both laughed at that.

“I don't! I just...like to get away with little things. I always have.” She looked up at him then, her teeth were gently biting into her bottom lip. Copia found himself transfixed on the way her pink bottom lip slipped from between her teeth. 

“That's understandable. I used to slide down the railings in the turrets. Only got caught once,” he laughed.

“I would willingly slide down a railing in a turret, going around and around and around. That’d be excellent.” She laughed with him as she spoke. The stillness of the room was broken. That rising tension was gone. They both sat in silence for a moment, feeling how close the other was; how warm they were. Finally, Copia pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the time. 

“Shit, it’s almost eleven. I need to wake up really early tomorrow.” He stood up and turned to Lydia. “Thank you for coming with me, and I hope it was informative. I’m sorry that….well...I’m sorry that the beans got spilled, I guess.” He ran an errant hand up the back of his neck. Lydia just smiled at him, her arms still crossed over her chest. She shook her head.

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t think any of it is real, so it’s whatever to me. It just...sort of caught me off guard, that's all.” She gave a soft laugh, her eyes remained fixed on him as he nodded silently. 

“Well, I’m glad you’re staying, and I’m still looking forward to the car ride.” He could feel that same burning heat in his cheeks again. 

“Yeah! No, no, I am, too. Thank you for bringing me with you tonight. You didn’t have to, but you did, and I do really appreciate that. So, thank you.” For a brief moment she almost reached out to hug him, but stopped herself: clamping her fingers tightly onto her own arms. Copia noticed that she’d stopped herself and a huge part of himself desperately wished she hadn’t. _But there’s time for that later,_ he thought inwardly. 

“Alright, well, I’m expecting you at noon on Saturday. Know that I am looking forward to it though.” His voice dropped slightly as he spoke, his hand idly running through his hair once more. Lydia’s smile seemed to light up the room at his words, and he couldn’t help himself—he had to admit he loved her reactions to everything he said or did. 

“I’m very excited to see your project car. And to watch you driving me around the countryside at my whim.” She dramatically rolled her eyes and sighed as she spoke. He laughed.

“I would gladly do so, if you only asked.” He raised his eyebrow at her as he spoke, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Before she could reply, he continued. “I hope you’re alright, and if you’re not, you know where to find me, yes?” Lydia nodded, pressing her lips together tightly as he turned on his heel and began to walk back to the door. As he opened it, he took one last look over his shoulder at her and watched her wave goodbye to him. He waved back, shutting the door behind himself.

She listened as his footsteps faded away. The smile on her face disappeared and was replaced by a taught straight line. Her fingers dug into her arms tightly as she went back to her chair behind her desk. Flopping down into it, she leaned with her forearms against the ancient wooden thing. The room was still and dark but Lydia looked up anyway, as though she were expecting to be spied on. She reached inside her shirt, pulling out a silver chain that hung lowly around her neck. She cradled it in her hands for a moment, looking down at the pendant dangling from the end. She stared at it, her thumb running over the smooth metal of it. Finally, she held it up, and in the light from the fireplace behind her, she saw her own reflection cast in the pendant. 

“If only you were here. I could just ask you. But...no such luck, right, Mom?” Her voice was the softest whisper as she spoke. The ankh pendant swung gently in the air as she held it up. She stared into it like a crystal ball, though it yielded no answers. 


	19. The Pendant and the Riddle

_Sweden_

_November 9th, 2017_

_10:03 AM_

The sun was flooding into the large room, warming the broad, flat stoned floor. Lydia filed through paperwork that was on her desk - some pamphlets here and there, some books, a scroll of some kind that Göta had found. Though she started filing through her paperwork, she checked her phone every so often. Copia hadn’t replied from earlier. _He’s probably working,_ she thought to herself, _something I should be doing._ She laid her phone down, continuing to file through things absently, her hands floating over this document and that letter, her eyes blankly scanning over scroll after scroll. The time ticked by slowly, seemingly dragging, but still the morning sun rose and turned into a sharp and piercing afternoon light. The heat in the room was steadily increasing as the sun rose higher in the sky. Lydia sat back in her chair and pulled her sweatshirt over her head, casting it onto the back of her chair haphazardly. 

She leaned forward again, gazing plainly at the materials spread out across the desk in front of her. She sighed. Her eyes fell on a large, leather bound, green book laying off to the side of the desk: as though it were placed there and forgotten. It was covered in dust. She squinted at the ominous tome. Her hand reached for it but midway there it stopped, her fingers flexing in the air, touching nothing. She stared at it for a moment longer, time seemingly taught and stretched thin. But then she suddenly rocked forward in her chair and grabbed the book with both hands. She pulled it into her lap, scattering paperwork and files as she pulled the heavy leather bound thing onto her thighs, running the palm of her hand down across the front of it, blowing the dust off in a thick, roiling cloud. It’s spine creaked as she did so. The cover was loose, and it seemed to fall open more than anything else. As it did so, she saw several pages passing by, but it landed open on a print of lucifer that she knew she had seen before. There was a description at the bottom; it spoke about how the print had originally been completed by poet and artist William Blake, as an illustration in John Milton's _Paradise Lost._ She stared at the image for a moment but then began to read the rest of the page. She furrowed her brow at the last portion of it. 

“One of Lucifer's many names was ‘morning star’.” She read aloud to herself in the beautifully sunlit room. She could hear the fireplace behind her crackling gently. The sounds of birds outside in the barren branches of leafless trees. She leaned back in her chair, muttering the phrase ‘morning star’ over and over again in her mind before reaching for her phone. She immediately began to search online for the term, ‘morning star’. She scrolled through website after website for some time before finally reaching one that made her read it aloud. Her voice was soft in the stone encased chamber. Her brow furrowed as she whispered the words on the screen before her, “The name _Danica_ means _morning star._ ” Lydia’s words trailed off as she slumped into her chair, her back hitting it with a substantial thud. She sat quietly, her hand running its way absently through her hair, gripping it at its roots as she lost herself in thought. It was a long moment of stillness and silence before she made any kind of move, her teeth digging into her bottom lip as she thought for a while about what she wanted to do. Finally, she made a decision and picked her phone up and began to scroll through her contacts feverishly until decisively selecting the number she wanted. She clicked on it and made a call, plastering the phone to her ear. It rang and rang and rang and Lydia found herself closing her eyes and leaning back into her chair once more. She tapped her feet on the stone floor, desperately hoping that she’d hear that other line pick up. 

“Hey kiddo!” A cheery, deep rumbling voice sounded on the other line. “Calling me all the way from Sweden! That's gonna cost you a pretty penny!” He laughed into the phone, his voice was reassuring and warm and familiar. It made Lydia suddenly remember years and years that had gone by. And a wide grin spread across her face as she slumped forward against her desk, her chin resting in her left hand and her right hand placing her phone down onto the surface, turning on the speaker phone. 

“Hey Uncle Dylan.” She paused for, perhaps, a moment too long, and his demeanor changed, his voice shifting to fit her own. 

“I can hear it. Somethings wrong. What is it? You don’t like it over there? Is it too cold?” He lightly chuckled at his own joke. Lydia smiled but rolled her eyes.

“No, for the fifteen millionth time, it’s not that cold. Everyone makes that joke.” She sighed. But the man on the other line simply chuckled lightly at his own witticism and waited. Lydia drew in a deep breath, her eyes closing momentarily before she spoke, her voice was low and heavy, as though this were the most difficult thing in the world to say. “It's uh...well, I need to ask you something. It’s important. It’s...it’s about my mom.” Her voice sounded small and far away, which unnerved her. She could hear her uncle moving from the interior of the house and out onto the screened-in porch she knew so well. The sound of the back door creaking gave him away. She closed her eyes, listening to the sharp squeal of the springs in the door and realizing that after all this time, her aunt still didn’t wish to hear about her mother and for the slightest second, that fact cut with a deep corrosive burning. But Lydia sat up in her chair, leaning back against it. 

“What you need to know, kiddo?” Her uncle's voice was low and serious. In the background of the call, she heard the porch swing’s chains creaking. She could imagine her Uncle's yard with the most perfect of vision, having spent many summers there as a kid. She heard the chains of the swing creaking almost as though she were right there; she could reach out and touch them. But, in an instant, she knew she was still in the cold stone walls of some ancient fortress in a foreign land. 

“I know you’re trying to be discrete by going out on the back porch.” She said sternly. Her voice was low and honest. 

“You know how it is, kiddo. I can’t change any of that.” He sounded forlorn, as though a distant memory were keeping him from saying anything else. Lydia took it in her stride and got up from her chair, pacing around the room as she spoke.

“I need to know something important.” Her voice was almost a whisper into the phone but her uncle simply grunted his approval and she continued. “I need to know if...my mom...followed your parents' beliefs or not?” The silence on the other end of the line became deafening. He was obviously uncomfortable. He drew in a deep breath. The line was silent for a whole minute. 

“Well, that depends on how far down the rabbit hole you wanna go. You have to understand, Lydia, I don’t follow that path anymore.” His voice brokered no argument concerning the subject for himself. Lydia nodded as she spoke, the fingers of her left hand gripping the random, errant papers in front of her. 

“I know, I do, I get it. But...I need to know if my mom followed it. You know, until she died.” Lydia walked over to one of the large windows and stared out, down onto the gardens below. Her eyes catching a few people still wandering back outside into the light. A light that was warming and welcoming disguised the chilly fall air very cleverly. Her uncle was quiet. All she could hear was his breathing on the other line. He cleared his throat with a definitive cough. 

“Listen, I know that….your mother did follow our parents' beliefs.” He let out a deep breath he’d been holding. The chains on the porch swing made their presence known gently in the background. 

“What does that mean though?” Lydia asked. Halfway around the globe, her uncle shrugged. 

“It means that...she believed in something entirely different than I do, or what the average person believes. She believed it one hundred and twenty percent, Lydia.” Lydia was silent for a moment. Listening to the growing silence on the other end of the phone, she shoved her left hand into her pocket and her right clasped tightly onto her phone. 

“Uncle Dylan, listen, do you think that...she believed….too much? You know what I’m saying?” Lydia closed her eyes as she spoke. Her uncle sighed once more, his sigh turning into a laugh. 

“Lydia, your mother loved you with everything she had.” His voice trembled just slightly as he spoke, as though this were the most difficult thing he’d ever said. “And me, being a state trooper, you know I’ve seen my fair share of car accidents." He drew in a sharp breath. "When they pulled your little four year old self from that wreckage? Goddamn kiddo, there weren’t no way you should have survived that under any logical sense. You should have been killed right along with your mother.” He paused for a moment, as though considering it for the first time. He let out a sigh as he spoke; it seemed as though he’d been holding it for years. “But you weren’t. And...and I don’t know how that happened. To this day I _do not understand_.” He went silent. The tension on the phone line could be cut with a knife. Her uncle was silent but she could hear him breathing through his nose; the same worried sighing. She shook her head, her eyes closing momentarily as she did so. 

“It’s just...I know she believed in some things that even my father didn’t agree with. So I wanted to ask. Just how much she believed, I guess.” Lydia’s voice was soft and far off, usually her words came out crisp and clear and to the point. But this was another matter entirely. Her vision remained glued to the gardens below her window. In the background of the call, she could hear her aunt coming out onto the porch and asking who her uncle was talking to. He said Lydia’s name and her aunt disappeared back into the house just as quickly as she emerged, the screen porch door creaking, as it always did, and it slammed shut. 

“As to your father, well, that's not for me to say.” He sighed, sounding defeated; as if he was exhausted by the mere topic. “But listen kiddo, your mother did love you. She loved you a whole lot, with everything she had and everything she was! But…” he paused for a moment, evaluating his next words carefully, “if your mother believed...in some...religious system that was, let's say a _holdover,_ from our childhood, well...then….we certainly never spoke about it...” He sighed into the phone. Lydia could hear him scratching at his beard as he spoke. “I just know that...by rights you shouldn’t be here, Lydia. Not from the state that vehicle was in. Now, whether it was excellent engineering or….something else, I can’t say.” He went silent. 

“Yeah I remember the photos of the car. My dad showed them to me once. It was...horrible.” Her voice was soft. Halfway around the globe, her uncle nodded his head. 

“It was horrendous." His voice was barely a whisper. "I remember the firefighters using the jaws of life and the ram to get you out of the car. Luckily, you were little and the dash didn’t crush you in the impact. But…” he paused for a moment, Lydia could hear the porch swings chains swaying gently in a Virginia breeze that she knew all too well, “to this day I think about it: how you shouldn’t have lived. How we should have buried two people that day, but we didn't and I can't explain why we didn't. I think about that a lot, kiddo. Maybe there is nothing beyond this life, but...I’ll be damned.” He laughed: a deep, resonating, warm sound. 

“I know, Uncle Dylan.” She gave a half-hearted chuckle and with that, Lydia allowed the conversation to fall into a lull. Pushing it back and forth to normal topics, asking about other family members and how they were doing. Her aunt kept opening the screen door, muttering something about lunch being ready. And so, eventually, Lydia thanked her uncle and hung up, knowing that she wouldn’t get any more information. She went back to her chair and slumped into it. She rested her head on the palm of her hand, her elbow propping her up. Sighing to herself, she pulled out her phone and scrolled to a picture set: it was her when she was two and her mother had Lydia on her lap. Both of them with their familial trademark red hair. Lydia stared at the photo for a long time. Tears no longer being necessary or needed. It had been a long time, after all, and she certainly hadn’t known her mother very well. She only had a few scant memories: them in the yard of the house they’d owned, her mother and her in the grocery store, Christmas morning. 

Reaching inside her sweatshirt, Lydia pulled out the necklace her mother had given her all those years ago. She stared at it. Remembering what her mother had said about the strange symbol on the silver chain: “ _This means I’ll always be with you. It means for all eternity. No matter what happens._ ” Lydia hadn’t understood then, but she remembered nodding along. She stared at the symbol, now knowing full well what it was and what it meant. She held it in the palm of her hand for a moment, running her thumb over it; wondering endlessly what it meant that her mother had given it to her. Was it just a trinket to remember her mother by or was it important? A piece of her said she may never know; though, a stronger voice yelled from the depths, _but you can find out._ Lydia smiled at that second voice, knowing full well that it was right as she turned the pendant over in her hand, running her thumb across the inscription on the back: Danica Wolfe. 


	20. Tit For Tat

_ Sweden _

_ November 10th, 2017 _

_ 3:12 AM _

Alpha leaned against the ancient tree by the stream, watching the way its branches had grown to dip into the water at the far side. The wind blew softly through the boughs of the trees, and the stream made little noise as it babbled by on its way out to the sea. Overhead, the clouds moved silently across the night sky. The distant sound of small animals in the undergrowth could be heard just over the sound of the stream running at his feet. Mostly, though, the night was silent, and it was still. Alpha had stood there since midnight, his back pressed up against the ancient bark of the tree behind him; motionless. His chin seemed to be resting on his breastbone, his arms crossed below, over his chest. The tranquility of the night was disturbed for the first time by a loud crack like a whip against the ground. There was no smoke. There was no fire. There was nothing to really even hear: one minute there was nothing, and the next minute there stood a tall, masked figure with a long tail—his horns were longer than before. 

“From far off, I could have sworn you were nothing more than another part of that tree.” Omega’s voice was low but seemed to carry itself swiftly across the wide lawn. Alpha felt it before he heard it. His head snapped up quickly, and if the moon had been out, it would have reflected off of his metal mask. It didn’t take Omega long to walk towards Alpha, his arms outstretched as he prepared to greet his brother once more. Alpha stood up and leaned away from the tree, his arms still crossed as he allowed himself to be greeted by Omega. He nodded silently, behind his mask a tired smile slid onto his face as they parted. The stream continued to babble next to them, but the silence was otherwise complete. Neither said anything for a long moment. Alpha leaned back against the tree, and Omega tilted his head, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Is that the only thing propping you up, brother?” His voice was dark and solemn as he spoke. The boughs of the trees above them swayed in the gentle night breeze. Alpha did not turn to look at Omega; his eyes were fixed on the swiftly moving water below. 

“She’s going to die.” He pulled himself away from the tree and began to walk along the length of the stream’s bank. “She’s going to die, and there is nothing I can do about it.” His voice was a heated whisper. His hands were tightly clasped together behind his back, the fingers of his left hand digging into the wrist of his right, leaving little marks in his ghoulish skin. Omega simply stared down at the ground, his head tilted to the side, his vision locked onto the stream running by them both in the dark; oblivious to their struggles, their desires. 

“Have you contacted a-” Alpha cut Omega off with a sharp wave of his hand. 

“Yes.” He turned on his heel, the metal plate on the bottom of his shoe leaving a deep gouge in the grass beneath him. “She has seen doctors. Gone through treatments. Now...now she says she’s done with that. She refuses to be poked and prodded at anymore, so she says.” With every word his voice dipped lower, becoming like stone grinding on stone. He held his hands up, looking at his own palms as he spoke. “I can’t stop shaking, Omega. She’s going to die,” he looked up at his brother then, his eyes through his mask shining in the dark with tears, “there isn’t any way to stop this. Not even the Old One can stop it.” Omega remained silent for a long moment, watching Alpha closely. He took one tentative step closer. Alpha looked up from his shaking hands, his eyes meeting with his brother’s for the first time in years. 

“That's her choice, brother. Don’t ask her to suffer.” Omega’s voice was low; a slow comforting sound. Alpha’s hands fell back to his sides, clenched into fists once more. He began to pace along the bank of the stream, his footfalls crashing down onto the grass, cutting it with the force at which he slammed each foot down. 

“I have only ever served Him; is this how I am to be repaid?” The words came out of his mouth with a dark rumbling sound. Omega perked his head up then, noticing the way the rocks around the stream’s bank were beginning to vibrate and rattle against the dirt; the ground itself was thrumming lowly. Omega looked up and saw the boughs of the tree above them shaking in an unnatural way. The grass was moving, though there was no wind. A horrible snarling sound was emitting from behind Alpha’s mask as he began to stalk off back toward the main grounds of the church. 

“No, Alpha! You can’t do that!” Omega yelled, running quickly after Alpha, whose steps were swifter than usual. He grabbed his brother by the shoulders and spun him around. Alpha tried to wrench himself free but that was impossible. Omega had always been physically stronger than him. 

“Don’t tell me not to raze all of  _ this _ to the ground!” Alpha’s voice was nothing more than a crazed growl full of venom and vitriol as he attempted to get away. The ground was beginning to shake, more like an earthquake than anything else. Alpha’s eyes glowed with pure white-hot rage. It was everything Omega could do to keep him there. 

“You cannot raze anything to the ground, and you know that!” Omega’s voice was taut and stern, but low and heated as well. “Be rational! You have a purpose. I have a purpose.  _ She _ has a purpose. This,” he gestured to the huge sprawling building behind them, “this has a purpose. You will see her again, I promise you. The  _ Old One _ promised you.” Omega’s voice began to soften as he continued, and his hands—which had gripped his brother's shoulders so tightly—began to abate. “Perhaps...brother, this is how it has to be. You know this. You know that...for everything He gives, he must also take away. Those are the rules.” Omega’s words were the softest murmur now. Alpha seethed, but he listened. The rumbling in the earth seemed to quell itself, and the wind gently picked back up again. Omega gripped Alpha by the shoulders, watching as his eyes returned to normal and his snarling and rage turned to hot tears. 

“She’s going to die. She’ll be gone from this mortal coil.” Alpha’s voice was small, smaller than it ever had been before, and he found himself reaching up and grabbing his brother by the forearms; his voice was a shell of what it could have been. “Is this what I have to give up for his plan, Omega? Is this it? I have to give her up, so His plan can come to fruition? What about….what about…” he stammered to a halt. Omega loosened his grip on his brother's shoulders. 

“You’ll feel empty for a long time. I know...I know I did.” He looked down at the ground for a split second. Alpha nodded.

“I’m sorry, I...I shouldn’t have summoned you for this. I should have remembered. I didn’t-” Now it was Omega’s turn to cut Alpha off with a shake of his head and a deep rumbling laugh. 

“It’s alright, brother. I saw him again. The Old One  _ does _ keep his promises. Believe me.” He clapped Alpha on the shoulder firmly, never taking his eyes off of him. They both stood like that, standing in front of the other on the lawn, Listening to the wind caress the leaves in the trees and the stream carrying on its way. Alpha began to compose himself, nodding in agreement with Omega. 

“I just...even if I do see her again...I want her here. With me! I’m just greedy though.” He laughed, but it was bitter. Omega nodded. 

“I know. It isn’t fair—or so it seems. Until we pull the wool off of our eyes and we see it for what it really is,” he gestured to the huge compound of buildings far off behind them as he spoke, “it’s all about this. The message this sends in this world—it will echo for centuries. It is our  _ purpose  _ to make sure it does.” Alpha nodded silently, his hands falling to his sides again; fists no longer clenched. Omega took a step back, clasping his hands together again behind his back. 

“It is working though,” Alpha said quietly. “The plan, I mean.” Omega nodded. 

“Good. You know what to do, brother.”

“I do,” Alpha said, nodding. “Guiding someone is hard though, Omega. You never know if-”

“If they’ll pick up on your clues?” He chuckled, a deep reverberating sound. “From what I’ve heard, this one seems a bit...sharper, I think.” Behind his mask, the corners of his eyes crinkled, giving away his smile. Alpha did not smile, he only nodded numbly. Omega sighed and placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder once more, pulling Alpha toward him; their masks crashing together for an instant as Omega pushed his forehead against Alpha’s like they did when they were young and only had each other in the dawning of the world. 

“You’ll see her again. You must complete this task—your purpose—and you will see her again; your precious, wonderful, fallible, beautiful human being that you have chosen to hold on high above all others. You will see her again. I  _ promise _ .” Alpha said nothing. Sighing through his nose, he pulled away from his brother, nodding in agreement. 

“That doesn’t make me feel better. I still have to watch her disappear. I will still feel this horrible ache where she is supposed to be. But she won’t be there anymore. And it will be cold and solitary again.” His words were soft but dappled with sharp bursts of bright agony. 

“I know, brother.” Omega sighed as he spoke. The sounds of the stream behind them continued. The trees overhead moved with the wind, and in the undergrowth of the forest across the bank, the small animals continued to scurry and go about their business. Everything continued to turn and move, regardless of the plight of which the two creatures on the well-maintained lawn were all too well aware. 


	21. Car Rides and Confessions

_Sweden_

_November 11th, 2017_

_11:52 AM_

The air was brisk, and the wind blew errant leaves into little tornadoes all over the lawn. Several people were working dutifully with rakes and bags in an attempt to remove them from the yard, but it was much to no avail. The leaves had a mind of their own and, as such, so did the young woman walking down the cobblestone walkway toward the large sprawling garage. The building in front of her was a deep red brick, and it was obviously very well constructed: built into the side of the hill; the beautiful, wooden garage doors thrown open to let in the late Fall air. The angles were perfect all around the building, and the superb, copper roof shone in the sun just enough. Lydia walked along the brick pathway, her pink sneakers making as little noise as possible as her steps brought her directly to the standing open garage door. She leaned against the entrance, her hands safely tucked away in her zip-up sweatshirt. She tried to suppress a smile as she listened to Copia cursing under his breath. He was fidgeting with something inside the body of the vehicle; his shirt was stained with oil again, but she didn’t mind. She simply stood there for a moment and smiled until, finally, she cleared her throat. 

“Is your lady love ready to go?” she asked clearly, her vision scanning the garage and noticing how neat and clean it was. Copia faltered for a moment but only smiled and continued with what he was doing, chuckling lightly to himself. 

“I don’t know about my lady love, but the car is ready to go.” He extracted himself from the vehicle and grabbed a rag off the back workbench, turning around to look at her as he wiped his hands on it; his left eyebrow arched as he watched her. He noticed the mirror-ball aviator sunglasses, the mint green sweatpants, the grey zip up hoodie, the pink sneakers, and that adorable smirk. 

“Well, I’m glad. I’m also glad to see that I’m not too dressed up.” She began to walk into the garage, taking one step at a time, looking at all the items splayed out on the workbench and on the shelves as she went. She looked up at him then, and the slightest smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. He looked down at himself then. 

“Ah, yes. My bum clothes.” He sighed. “I never got a chance to change. Kind of lost track of time, if I’m being honest with you.” He shrugged, the softest hint of a blush creeping into his cheeks. Lydia laughed, and it was bright and honest. 

“No! I like your Adidas sneakers, and you’re obviously more comfy in that, so you should just wear that. We’re just going to be in the car, right? Who cares!” She shrugged playfully, a smile on her face while she spoke; her eyes hidden behind colored glass. 

“Well, if you don’t mind,” he said as he placed the rag he’d been holding down into the sink in the counter behind him, “then I don’t mind.” He ran the water in the sink for a moment, waiting for it to get hot by testing it with his finger tips. He washed his hands as quickly and thoroughly as he could, though there would always be that lingering oil scent, and he hated that. Inwardly, he cursed himself for not cleaning up sooner, but he’d just lost track of time. _Story of my life,_ he thought to himself as he dried his hands on a new clean towel. Only to reach for his jacket and scramble into it, zipping it up halfway as he turned to her. “Shall we?” He gestured to the car. 

“This is a Porsche, but it’s old,” she noted quietly, dragging her fingers along its hood. “Where’d you get this? And I must say, it’s not nearly as much of a piece of junk as I thought it would be.” A sly, mischievous smile played on her features. Copia gave a genuine, warm laugh as he walked over to the drivers side door, opening it gently. The door didn’t creak, and it was obvious that this vehicle had been taken care of. Lydia opened her passenger side door and noticed that the black leather was in pristine condition; the interior was perfect, almost like new. 

“This was a….a gift I suppose you could say,” Copia said quietly as he sat down in the driver's seat. Lydia took the hint and got in as well, shutting the door behind her with a soft _clunk_. She buckled the seat belt and leaned against the center console. 

“From whom?” she asked. Copia put the key in the ignition and turned it on, the engine came to life slowly; a deep, gentle rumble that held just a hint of a squeal to it, as though it were an animal waiting to be let loose.

“Uhh, actually it was Papa Emeritus the Second’s, and when he left to go to the branch of the church in France, he didn’t want to take this and…” Copia paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully, “truthfully, I asked him if I could have it, and he said yes, so here it is.” He turned to look at her then, noticing how close she was. He could smell her shampoo—distinctly mint scented—but just under that was something else; something else entirely more intimate and _her_. But he didn’t have time to dwell on that.

“Alright, so let's go! Come on!” She laughed with that same bright laughter she had, her eyes going wide for a fraction of a second behind her sunglasses. 

“As you command,” he said gently and put the vehicle into reverse. It was smooth, even over the gravel driveway, as though its shock absorbers had been replaced recently, or perhaps even the tires. Maybe it was just a well-made thing, but something told Lydia it was simply because the person who was taking care of it loved it very much. She looked around the cabin and noticed the condition everything was in: clean, neat, organized, no trash or anything in the back seat. It wasn’t a car for everyday driving: this was a labor of love, a project, a beloved toy. Finally she broke the silence as they pulled out onto the main driveway. The shrubs that lined it were encroaching, and she didn’t like how tight it was through here. But then, as they reached the end of the driveway, it opened up into a spacious green area: trees everywhere, fields, some houses dotting the landscape here and there. 

“This is truly a very prized object for you, isn’t it?” she remarked, looking out the window. Copia nodded, turning the wheel to the left, taking a corner rather sharply. Though they didn’t notice it: the car simply did as it was bade with no complaints. He changed gears, and the engine made a sound as though it were pleased with that. 

“I guess you could say that, yeah. I’ve been working on it for a long time, but it’s something that means a lot to me.” His voice grew softer and softer as he spoke about it.

“You speak like this has been the only thing in the world you’ve ever loved,” she said as she turned to look at him, and for the briefest of moments, he turned and looked at her, too. 

“Well,” he changed gears again, “that's not entirely true. I’ve loved lots of things. I love Bernard.” He laughed as he spoke, as though that should be obvious. Lydia sighed.

“That's true, but Bernard isn't a _thing,_ is he?” Copia laughed but nodded his head because he knew she was right. Time passed quickly, but they ended up talking about everything from the weather to the state of the greater world at large. Finally, Copia elbowed her and jerked his head towards the steering wheel.

“You wanna drive?” He looked at her out of his peripheral vision, an impish smirk on his face. Lydia laughed, throwing her head back against the headrest.

“I wish! I don’t have a Swedish license though. Alas!” She sighed with faux dramatics and draped her arm across her forehead for a moment, only to smile at her own joke, watching him with those intense blue eyes. Copia shrugged and made a face.

“I thought you _loved_ breaking the law. Besides, if you don’t get caught, is it _really_ breaking the law?” he said sarcastically as he took a right turn down a country road, the trees overhead dropping beautifully-colored leaves that were whipped up behind the vehicle into little, albeit temporary, swirling vortices. She made an indignant sound and elbowed him back across the console.

“Cardinal Copia, I am deeply offended that you would think I’d relish breaking the law! How could you even suggest such a thing.” She turned her head to look out the window, trying to hide the knowing smile on her face. He chuckled. 

“You know I can see you in the reflection of the glass, right?” His voice was a low gravelly sound as he hit the gas a little bit more, going around another corner and up into the tighter, more scenic road. “Besides, I watched you practically beg to sneak into the private section of the library, and you watched me break open a filing cabinet for your quest. I didn’t think you would be ethical about _this_ , of all things.” He turned to look at her for a moment, a knowing smile on his face, his eyes were wide as he looked at her. 

“Stop psychoanalyzing me and drive the car.” Her voice was clipped but still playful, and he knew he hadn’t gone too far. He huffed out a laugh as the car went around yet another turn in the road, this time passing another vehicle with ease. Admittedly though, she was having a hard time keeping her gaze on the outside world flying by, and soon, she found herself leaning in toward the middle, so that she and Copia’s elbows touched on the console. Neither of them said a word. It felt natural, it wasn’t to be disturbed and so neither of them mentioned it. They rode like that in silence for some time. The beautiful leaves falling down outside and the autumnal morning sun was beating down on the road and the hood of the dark blue Porsche.

“This thing is very quick,” she whispered to herself as they wound their way around another curve in the road. Copia nodded.

“Well, this is a 944 Turbo, well, known by enthusiasts as the 951. It has a turbocharger, so it's fast enough.” He said all of this so matter-of-factly and plainly: right to the point. 

“What about the color? Is it a limited run? I haven't seen a lot of Porsche's that are navy blue, truth be told.” He nodded his head.

“No, navy blue is not a very popular color. But I like blue. So I had it repainted. It was originally dark green, but...that's not really my color,” he said gently, almost a whisper, as he downshifted. Lydia nodded her head in silence. They sat like that for a long moment: simply existing as the car wound around another curve. The leaves kicking up behind them seemed to follow for a moment. Finally, Lydia turned to him.

“Alright, I have to ask: what's up with the face paint?” Her words were straight and to the point, and when he glanced at her from the corner of his vision, he saw that she was not smiling. He tilted his head this way and that as he thought, a sarcastic smile clinging to his face. He leaned to the side in his seat, his left hand holding the wheel gently as he thought. 

“It’s...something you pick out.” He spoke quietly, reverently, as though this were something difficult. Lydia waited silently. “I chose mine when I became Auctoritatis of the Cardinals, and I chose mine because it conceals my condition.” His voice was soft, but she could still hear him over the gentle hum of the engine. 

“And what is your condition?” Her voice brokered no argument. Copia sighed. He didn’t need to look at Lydia to know that she was staring at him; waiting. 

“I have a genetic condition. It's a blood clotting problem. It has a name, but I don’t remember the medical term for it. But it’s not something I talk about a lot. I chose my face paint because it covers it up.” His voice was stiff and low. 

“If this makes you uncomfortable, you don’t have to tell me, you know,” Lydia said gently. Copia turned the wheel to the far left, his foot coming off the gas and the clutch for a moment. He shook his head, a lazy smile on his face.

“In all honesty, it feels kind of nice to tell someone.” 

“Yeah, I get that.” Her voice was almost a whisper as she spoke, but the cabin didn’t descend into an awkward silence as he had thought it would. “Well, since you shared with me, I guess I should share with you, right? Is that how this works?” She laughed, her perfectly straight white teeth catching his vision for a moment as he drove. He smiled back at her, and it came naturally to him, like this was all something they’d been through before. 

“If you want to. Don’t feel like you have to though.” His voice was soft. Lydia smiled, picking at her sweatshirt. The silence in the car wasn’t uncomfortable: it just was. It was the gentlest form of purgatory he’d ever been in. 

“So, where are we going?” she asked, her voice was warm and soft. Copia raised an eyebrow, as if he’d been expecting something else. But then he reminded himself that he did give her the choice not to share anything personal with him. He couldn’t lie to himself though, and he found a piece of him was disappointed that he didn’t get a real answer. 

“Uh, we’re going...this way.” He pointed with his index finger forward, his hand clasped to the wheel as he spoke; a smile on his features. She laughed again, that same warm laugh that he liked to hear so much. As they drove and drove, he didn’t really know where they were going, but he didn’t care either. He knew they had GPS, and he knew he could find his way back eventually. Lydia didn’t seem pressed or upset, so he just kept driving. The silence was comforting, in a strange way. But it didn’t last for long. 

“I mean, it doesn’t matter where we go. I just wanted to see your car and hang out with you,” she said gently as she smiled at him, only to turn and look at him over her shoulder. The slightest pink blush in her cheeks, her teeth latching onto her bottom lip if for only a moment. If he said he didn’t feel his heart explode when she did that, he knew he would be a liar.

“Is that all you wanted?” he asked as he looked both ways before hitting the gas and driving through a roundabout. 

“No, of course not,” she gave a sigh that sounded like the gentlest laugh, “but I agree with you though, it does feel nice to tell someone some things.” She paused for a moment, and the sound of the turbo whining could be heard. Under the wheels of the car, some sticks and leaves were crushed as the vehicle rounded another corner. “Fuck it, you told me about your condition, it’s only fair I tell you mine. I hate one-way roads, after all.” Copia didn’t push; he just waited and continued to drive. He leaned against the console in the middle, not even registering that their elbows were bumping into each other again. Lydia drew in a deep breath, “You asked me before if there was any, uh...anyone special in my life?”

She paused for perhaps a moment too long, and Copia felt himself go cold as he waited, trying to curb his racing mind. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel as he made a noncommittal noise in his throat, and she continued speaking as though nothing had occurred. Though, that waiting had felt like ten years to him. “And although there isn't now, there used to be. I almost married him, and not marrying him was like dodging the biggest bullet.” She let out a soft, bitter-sounding laugh. Copia nodded stiffly but smiled back at her, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His grip on the steering wheel loosened, if only by a fraction. Her gaze was still fixed out the window, watching the countryside go by as it glowed with the afternoon sun. 

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t marry him, if it was like dodging a bullet.” Copia turned to her for the briefest of glances and smirked at her. His mismatched eyes went wide, whether he intended it or not, and Lydia couldn’t help herself and smiled back at him when he did that. It was as though it were some unspoken signal, though for what she didn’t know. 

“Yeah, I’m glad I didn’t marry him either, to be honest.” Her voice was small. 

“I appreciate you telling me,” he said as he gestured with his right hand, his left holding the steering wheel. “I mean, you didn’t have to. But I’m glad you did.” Her cheeks flushed pink once more as he said that, then she turned and quickly looked out the window.

“Talking about it is hard. It’s like a failure, you know?” she said. He nodded.

“Yes, I get the failure thing.” He drew in a sharp breath as his eyes scanned the road in front of him. “When everyone expects something from you, and then you don’t deliver and it feels wrong somehow,” he changed gears as they went around another corner, “but you know you’re doing the best thing for yourself, but you also know you might have let some people down, so it's a mixed bag.” He said everything clearly and concisely. Lydia nodded, still looking out the window.

“That's exactly it. Everyone expected me to get married to that guy just because we’d been together for a long time, but I knew in my gut he wasn’t the one and I had to listen to my gut. So I did.” She laughed as she spoke. “I’ve not once thought it was a mistake. I know it was the right thing to do.” She nodded tightly to herself. Resolute in her decision. The engine made another whining sound as it rounded an uphill corner, and as they reached the zenith of it, the valley below was spread out in front of them. The vehicle descended swiftly down the road, and distantly, Lydia noticed the church's sprawling compound nestled within a dense forest, nothing around it for miles. 

They drove through the countryside, and the view from on high disappeared as the car swept this way and that around corners and flew down straight aways. Little swirling piles of leaves followed the car briefly in the wake of its speed. 

“Did we just drive in a circle?” she asked, pointing at the same small Circle K petrol station that they’d passed earlier. 

“You are observant. Yes, we did drive in a huge misshapen circle,” he replied. She made a faux disgusted sound at the back of her throat. 

“Well, that's not an adventure. You knew where we were going the whole time!” She laughed, throwing her head back as she did so, her short red hair rubbing against the leather of the headrest. Copia couldn't help the dark laugh that came out of him as he turned the vehicle to the right, onto a smaller unmarked road. The speed of the vehicle lessened, and soon, the same gravel driveway with the overgrown shrubs was in sight. 

“This is a nice car, Copia. I will give you that. You’ve obviously worked very hard on this, and it shows,” Lydia said, her voice even keel and honest. She was looking out the window as she spoke, and Copia tilted his head to the left, trying to suppress the blush that was creeping up his neck. 

“Thank you, Lydia, I appreciate that,” he said quietly as the tires on the vehicle hit the telltale bump of the concrete driveway, which branched off the gravel circle and led down to the garage. The doors were still standing open, though there was no one around as Copia parked the car back in the bay where it belonged. The vehicle came to a halt, and he put the emergency brake on and cut the engine. 

“I missed being in a nice car, and this one definitely is very nice. Thank you for inviting me. You didn’t have to.” Lydia leaned over the middle console and quickly pressed her lips to his cheek. He had been looking down at the keys in his hand when she did it; he felt his eyes go wide and his mouth form a straight line. The heat hit first, and then the cold washed over him: he froze for a fraction of a second, unable to move; feeling the warmth left there on his skin from her lips. But then he nodded stiffly and opened his door, stepping out. Lydia pulled away from him, a mischievous smile on her face as she followed suit, and soon both doors shut with a heavy, resounding _clunk_. 

“Uh...I...you’re welcome,” he said quietly, not bothering to lock the vehicle but, instead, slipping the keys into his pocket. He looked up at her then, unsure of what to say or do. A piece of him was terrified—but another was wholly relieved. “Sorry, I’m not very good at this,” he said gently. “It’s been...a long time.” He tried to smile, but that was a truth that cut to the bone. Lydia smiled up at him. 

“I didn’t know how to thank you, not just for the drive, mind you. But words seemed...well, small and useless, is the best way to put it.” She walked towards him with her hands in the pouch of her sweatshirt. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, why don’t you show me the rest of the cars in this garage, Cardinal Copia.” She gestured to the cars lined up one after the other after the other, all of them obviously expensive, luxurious toys. He stared at her for a moment, his brow furrowing as he tilted his head. She mimicked him and tilted her head the same way, her eyes wide and a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. He squinted at her, and she squinted back at him. At that action though, something in him gave, and he felt his mouth open and the words were pouring out before he could stop them. 

“Carmine,” he said softly. “Carmine is my first name. You can call me Carmine.” Her eyes widened as he spoke.

“Alright, Carmine, if you’re willing to indulge me, why don’t you show me the rest of the frivolous spending your organization engages in,” she said as she jerked her head towards the next car over, a BMW M760Li. “I do love German engineering.” She said the last part just under her breath as she walked past him, her hands still in the pouch of her sweatshirt and Cardinal Carmine Copia following behind her with a dumb smile on his face. 


	22. Nicotine and Chatter

_Sweden_

_November 13th, 2017_

_8:17 PM_

“Another?” a deep voice asked from his right. Copia nodded, reaching out his hand to the packet of cigarettes his friend was holding out to him like an offering. He grabbed one and put it carelessly between his lips as he patted his hands down his shirt and over his sweatpants pockets, looking for a lighter. His friend chuckled, tossing Copia his. 

“Thanks,” he said plainly, pulling on the cigarette between his lips, smoke held in for only a moment before he let it out. The man who sat to his right ran a hand through his short sandy-blonde hair, allowing his hand to travel down to the collar of his sous chef jacket, unbuttoning it as he slumped in his chair. They were both seated just outside the back kitchen door, which was flung open to the cool fall night air. Inside was a bustling mess. People scrambling this way and that, trying to clean up the leftovers from dinner. Copia sat on the ground next to his friend, his legs stretched out and crossed at his ankles. His friend chuckled as he pulled out a cigarette for himself and drew it to his lips, lighting it. 

“Your blue shoes clash with your black sweatpants, my friend. Don’t you know that black and blue don’t go together?” His voice was raspy and he coughed through almost every word. Copia smiled, running an errant hand through his hair as he pulled on his cigarette again. 

“I figured,” he said as he lifted up one foot and wiggled it back and forth as he spoke, “these were so azure blue and the pants were so jet black that it wouldn’t matter, Elias.” He turned his head and looked up at his friend then as he lowered his foot back down onto the other one and once more took a drag off his cigarette. Elias smiled, smoke leaking out from between his lips as he laughed.

“I don’t really give a shit. You know that. Besides, I’m not here to give you fashion advice, _cardinal._ ” Copia shook his head at the sarcastic tone in his friend's voice, and he found himself laughing. After all these years, and after all these changes, Elias and he could still sit there together and do absolutely nothing, and it was perfectly fine and good. “I’m here because _you_ had a story to tell me.” Elias smirked as he spoke, his cigarette dangling from his lips. Copia rolled his eyes, shifting slightly and putting out his own cigarette in a cup of dirty ashen water that they’d both been putting their cigarette butts in. 

“We went on the car ride.” Copia’s voice was soft, almost a whisper as he spoke. His mismatched gaze disappearing out over the lawn spread out before him and down onto the mist settling in the valley, down by the stream. “I, uh...I told her about my face paint.” He looked down at his lap, folding his arms over his chest as he spoke; his jaw tightening. Elias shrugged. 

“And?” He took another drag off of his cigarette. Copia sighed. 

“She was fine with it. Took it in her stride. It was a tit-for-tat though, as I should have expected.” He chuckled to himself, “I told her something, so she told me something, so I told her something and then she told me another something. But it was really nice. I had…” he paused, thinking before speaking, “...a really wonderful time.” His voice was low and quiet as he spoke. He looked down at his shirt and picked at a piece of food stuck to the white cotton of his t-shirt, absently. 

“And? I know that can't be it.” Elias prompted. Once more taking a drag off his cigarette as he smirked at his friend who now squirmed uncomfortably in his spot on the concrete patio just outside the back door to the church's kitchens. 

“I...I, uh...I told her my first name,” he said very gently, his voice strained, as though he were tip-toeing around it; as if this were the most difficult thing in the world to say. Elias nodded silently and put out his cigarette in the dirty cup of water, the red hot cherry of the burning tobacco hissing as it hit the water. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. 

“That's a big deal for you,” Elias said resolutely. Copia nodded firmly. Elias continued. “I take it she was fine with that?” 

“Oh yeah, she was. She texted me later and told me she’d never met a ‘Carmine’ before, asked me if that's why I liked cars. She thought she was very funny.” He smiled to himself as he spoke. Elias’ breathed out smoke as he chuckled. Copia shifted his feet once more; this time his left ankle resting on his right. “She loved my car though. Made me give her a tour of the garage. I had to show her every single car in there and it took all evening and I would gladly do it again in a heartbeat, forever, if she wanted me to.” Every word he said seemed to pour out one after the other after the other. Elias smiled, a genuine warm thing that spread across his face. 

“I’m really glad for you, dude. I really am. Everything you’ve told me about her sounds like it's a good match, not to mention that you said you stayed up all night texting her the first time.” He clapped Copia on the shoulder firmly and shook him just enough to elicit a response. Copia pushed Elias’ hand off of his shoulder, laughing as he did so. They both devolved into more cigarettes and playful teasing and jibes at one another, the conversation floating up out of the murk every so often. 

“So, what? You’re just going to wax poetic all night about this woman and I don’t get to meet her? Me? Your best friend ever, ever from all the way back when?!” Elias said in that same low, slow grumble he always had. Copia laughed, sighing out the smoke in his lungs. It curled its way around him, making him look like a sorcerer, if for only a moment before the wind took it. 

“No, I don’t know when I can get you to meet her. But I am hoping maybe at the party next week. Are you working that in the kitchen or on the floor?” Copia looked up at Elias, who shrugged indifferently. 

“Honestly, probably in the kitchen. If I know Chef, it’ll be right there with him making sure nothing is wrong. That party is a big deal, Copia, you know that.” He sighed and held onto his cigarette with his left hand, index finger and thumb pinching the filter tightly as he spoke, “But! I think I can come out and serve you your dinner personally, right, cardinal?” He jostled his knee to the left, tapping Copia on the shoulder with it. Copia rolled his eyes, a smile on his mouth still.

“Yes, I would be honored, sous chef.” Copia made a mock bow, and Elias laughed, throwing his head back as he did so. “So, whatever shall you be serving next week?” Copia asked, pulling out another cigarette and lighting it. He took three deep puffs on it and then coughed them out. Elias didn’t mind, he simply lit his own, thinking about the menu. 

“I forget what we’re doing, but it’s going to be good! It always is though, you know me. Don’t worry, Copia, I won’t let you be embarrassed by our culinary prowess in front of your American girlfriend. I got you.” A deep, dark chuckle emitted from the blonde man sitting next to him and all Copia could do was shake his head and listen to Elias laugh at his own joke. 

“I know, I know. I’m not saying you all do bad work, you don’t. You do excellent work. When you want to though! And you can’t deny that, Elias.” Copia looked up at his friend then, narrowing his eyes and raising his eyebrows slightly. Elias nodded and laughed.

“Okay, look, I know that? I know there are times we let certain things slide but you know at these kinda parties we don’t roll like that.” Elias turned and looked at him then. His face was picture-perfect seriousness. 

“Oh, I know. I’m just yanking your chain, as always.” They both laughed at that. “But you can't say some of those lunches aren't absolutely abysmal.” They both laughed again, this time Elias just a little bit more than Copia. 

“Yeah, I know you’re just yanking my chain. But don’t worry, it’ll be great food, just as good as that time I had dinner sent up to your quarters for you and her and you didn’t know what she’d eat so I just threw it all together.” He took a drag off of his cigarette again. “Good thing it was hand selected and made well. Gosh.” Elias’ voice dripped in sarcasm and it was everything Copia could do to not laugh. 

“You did do a great job there. She _was_ impressed.” Copia looked out over the valley as he spoke.

“Hell yeah.” Elias said under his breath. Copia laughed and shook his head, reaching for another cigarette. “So is she the one?” Elias finally asked. Copia stopped laughing and his eyes became wide as he audibly swallowed. His mouth hung open for a moment too long before he answered. 

“Yes.” He said louder than he’d intended. “I don’t say that, you know?” Elias nodded as Copia turned to him when he spoke. “I don’t say that. Ever. But...we spend all this time talking and when we do it seems to go on forever and ever and it’s perfect. No one has ever held my attention like that before. I hope I hold her attention too.” His voice was tight and modest somehow. A slow knowing smile spread on Elias’ features as he put out the butt of his cigarette. 

“Listen, if you’re both texting each other well into dawn...I think it’s safe to say you hold her attention too, my friend.” He wiggled his eyebrows dramatically as he looked down at Copia, who nodded silently, a smile on his face. Once again, he reached into the packet for another cigarette. They both sat like that in the fading twilight, watching the mist gathering down in the valley by the stream and the cigarettes slowly dwindling between them. The sounds from the kitchen behind them were fading away and becoming fewer and further in between. The voices were disappearing one by one, and soon, the lights were beginning to darken. Copia didn’t feel like leaving, and Elias certainly didn’t move either. They both sat with the back door to the kitchen propped open behind them. A comfortable silence laid in between them as they finished the rest of the packet of cigarettes. The mist down in the valley grew thicker, and the darkness and the silence around them became a comfort. 


End file.
